


Sins of the Fathers

by Pariahrogue



Series: The Punisher Saga [2]
Category: Punisher (Comics)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:00:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 61,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6511900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pariahrogue/pseuds/Pariahrogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuation of God's Avenger.  If anyone wants a romance, let me know with a comment and I'll figure out a way to work it in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

David entered his studio apartment and locked the door behind him with a quiet sigh of frustration. It had been a long day at work, and his supervisor had told him to go home, but advised him that David was ‘on-call’---meaning that his ass could be forcibly hauled back to work if deemed necessary. He dropped the suitcase in his desk chair as he pulled down his Murphy bed to see if he could catch some sleep.

This was a Spartan, spare apartment. Aside from the pictures of his children, there was not much in the way of decoration. Well, other than the half consumed bottle of whiskey, that is. A bottle of his depression meds hung out next to it. He undid his underarm holster and put it next to the bed. The slacks and dress shirt followed suit. Clad in boxers, he slid into bed with relief.

The glow of the streets illuminated his room, which included a TV and a small loveseat. A kitchenette served his basic needs. A small door led to his private bathroom. /Behold! My large domain! / He missed his family’s house in Virginia, a large and comfortable abode. He missed his family, really. After his wife cheated on him, he filed for divorce. No matter how much she begged, he was not able to forgive her. They sold the house, Morena took the kids that weren’t on their own, sons Cameron and Trent, and moved to Georgia. A month later, she married the man she cheated on him with. He wished her well, then moved up to New York City. He vowed to keep their relationship civil for their children's’ sake.

His cell phone rang, he glanced at it and saw “MORENA LOVELL”. His ex-wife. He answered the phone, “Hello, Morena. Are the kids ok?”

She sighed. “They’re fine. I …uh….just need some money.”

He sat up in bed and glowered. “I sent the child support money last week. And you need more? What in hell do you do with it, Morena?” This was not the first time she asked for additional money.

“I know. You’ve always been good about that. Erik spent too much and we need some to cover the mortgage.” Morena sounded sheepish.

He sighed. “I sent the girls money for college and I need what’s left to pay for my rent. I can’t send any money this week. By the way, you need to stop letting Erik touch what’s supposed to take care of our children. Do you want me to buy a prepaid credit card and put the money on that? So that he can’t get to it?”

She became upset. “I’m not a child, David. I don’t need to be treated like one.”

“Well, you need to stop asking me for money when your new husband spends it all.” David was getting frustrated with this situation. “For Christ’s sake, I send you $2500 a month for them!”

Morena started to cry. “I made a mistake, David, by marrying him. He doesn’t have a job and spends all our money on stupid shit. If I divorce him, he’ll sue for alimony.”

David rather uncharitably thought this was karma biting her on the ass, but kept that thought to himself. “Open up a new account with a new bank. Don’t tell Erik. I think I can send some money next week. It won’t be much, but you can buy groceries with it.” David didn’t want his children to go without food or utilities. “This is the last time I’ll bail you out. You have to rein Erik in, somehow. If you can’t, it might be cheaper to divorce him. I don’t think he can make a claim on your child support.” He made a mental note to start checking up on Erik Lovell. There were disadvantages to marrying the ex-wife of an FBI agent and incurring the curiosity of the aforementioned agent was one of those disadvantages.

“Thank you, David.” Morena sounded like she was going to add something, but David told her that he needed to rest and hung up. He knew she regretted her choice to cheat and had a feeling she’d try to wiggle her way back to his good graces, which wasn’t going to happen. He could forgive small stuff, but unfaithfulness—never.

/Maybe I need to find someone to have fun with, but I don’t have time to date. / He worked 50 to 55 hours a week, then once a month flew down to Georgia to spend the weekend with his children. Sometimes his oldest son got leave from the Seals and spent the weekend with him. Other times, he went and visited his twin daughters in Pennsylvania where they were going to college. So there was no time to go out to and mingle, even if he wanted to. To tell the truth, David was not of a mind to date or even casually fuck around. He still felt raw over the dissolution of their marriage; he was a devout Catholic and he took such things seriously. 

Zoloft and an occasional shot of alcohol helped to ease the rawness, which he knew was a contradiction to being Catholic, but he needed help sometimes. God understood.

He looked over at the bottle of Zoloft, opened it and popped a pill. It was prescribed to help him with his panic attacks and depression. It seemed to help. He still had panic attacks but they weren’t as sharply fierce as before. He hated the feelings of severe anxiousness and the sensation of heart palpitations. Not pleasant or wanted. David knew he needed to see his psychiatrist again, as he wanted to eventually get off Zoloft. He would make an appointment in the morning.

He closed his eyes and fell asleep, for all of an hour. The phone rang and he cursed. A soft rustling of bedclothes ensued. “What the fuck now?” David grabbed his phone. “Crap. It’s work.”

“Agent Salvatore, I need you to go on assignment. There’s been several murders at a church. The victims were a priest and some men we suspect were mafia. Can you get there in an hour? I’m sorry to have to pull you back into the field, but you’re the only available agent that knows Italian. I’m not sure if it’s needed, but since we’re dealing with some Italian people, that might come in handy.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in about an hour. I need to shower and shave.” After that, they hung up and he put on his coffee maker while he hit the bathroom. /Why me? / He mused as he lathered up and relished the hot water as it chased the soap off his body. It didn’t take him long to shave and he roughly pulled up a fresh set of boxers and pants. The shirt, tucked in, managed to make him look like professional. A tired one, but professional nonetheless. He put on a tie and his holster. After grabbing his mug of freshly brewed black coffee, he headed out the door.

The scene was crowded with police, reporters and distraught priests. Red and blue flashing lights stabbed him in the eye as a cop was putting up the yellow crime scene tape. He flashed his badge, the cop examined it, and the agent was ushered in. 

David grimaced at the sight of the priest on the cross. /He must have pissed the wrong person off. I wonder what he did. / His eyes caught the man in the baptismal font, brain matter and gore splattered against the white vestments. /Nice. Real nice. / There were several other crumpled men lying on the floor like used up Kleenex.

The detective on the case caught sight of him and ambled over to David. The man was African-American and had a world weary expression. He appeared amiable enough, though David knew local law enforcement sometimes grumbled a bit when the Feds became involved. “I’m Agent David Salvatore from the FBI and we’re taking a look at this case because of possible organized crime involvement.”

“I’m Detective Larry Spader. Glad to have you on board. This is a very messy case. Reports of the priest being a pedophile are starting to come in; at least three boys have admitted that he touched them inappropriately. “Detective Spader shook his head. “If you want to talk to a victim, a boy by the name of Marc Simpson has volunteered. He’s a wreck so be careful.”

David said. “Later, certainly. I want to get a feel for the crime scene.”

Spader continued.” So there’s motivation for his murder. We’re not sure about the others. Maybe some rival Family offed everyone? But that doesn’t jive with what we found in the basement. Inside a small room, there was a box that apparently contained a person. We found fingernails in the cover of the box, as if someone tried to claw their way out. In that room, black and auburn hairs have also been obtained, indicating at least two people were held. We’ll do a DNA test on them and see if we can get a hit.”

David studied the room. He let his mind see the whole picture before mentally dissecting it. Large boots left their marks on the floor. Pews were knocked over. Traces of blood He noticed an imprint of a small foot close to the impression of that boot. He moved closer and examined it. “I think this is from a woman; the size of the foot is smaller than the one of the boot.” David waved a cop over and had her photograph both impressions. He noted the scattering of teeth along the floor and smears of crimson blood.

David thought for a moment as he put together the pieces of the puzzle. “So she stood here in clear view of the priest.” He did not want to, but he moved closer to the dead man who still hung on the cross. /If the allegations about him were true, I’m glad he’s gone. / “I wonder which person shot the priest.” He turned to Detective Spader. “Any available video?”

At that, the detective nodded. He held up a CD. “Want to watch it with me?” 

Together, they went down the hall and into what was a Sunday school room. Detective Spader popped it in the machine and they watched the mafia men come in with the priest, followed by a huge man who was clearly the Punisher. 

Detective Spader proclaimed, “Holy fuck, that’s Frank fucking Castle!”

David felt a queasy sensation in his stomach as he saw what Punisher did to everyone in the room. /I’ve seen video like this in the past and haven’t ...been affected. / They watched Frank clean up and mop the floor with his vastly superior fighting skills. Both law enforcement officers were impressed. 

David made a mental note that Frank seemed to be highly intelligent and entirely merciless. He’d heard stories, sure, but this was the first time he saw the man in action. The Punisher was a divisive figure himself, some agents thought he should be locked up forever but others chose to look the other way. David wasn’t sure what to think. He just felt sorry for the man who lost so much in the war then at home. David, after seeing him in action, was fascinated by Frank Castle. Fascinated in the way that David wanted to learn more about him. 

The CD showed a willowy woman sidle up to Frank and aim her gun--David thought it was a 1911--at the priest. The men saw the flash of the handgun and that was when they knew she killed the man. “So we’re looking for two suspects. The Punisher and Busty St. Clair.”

David did not think much of the Busty comment, but he considered the woman to be rather pretty. Her face was sculpted and divine, but he could see that she hadn’t been eating well and her frame was thinner than it should be. A theory sprang to his mind. “Spader, I think she’s the one that was in that coffin down below. Look at her. Possibly pale, hard to tell, but certainly malnourished. The Punisher probably saved her, let her go.”

“Do you think she was molested down there?” It wasn’t an idea that either of them wanted to contemplate, but it sure would account for the apparent anger and her desire to kill Father Peter.

The tall, handsome FBI agent mulled it over. “If she were, it wasn’t by Father Peter. She’s not his gender or age preference--she’s young but not that young. I’m not ruling sexual assault out, however. Maybe one of the other priests did. I think it’s time to go interview them. Then we’ll check out the rest of the scene. I definitely want to see the ‘coffin’.”

After interviewing the other priests, all of whom were in shock that not only was this a violent crime scene, but that someone was being held in the basement of the church. David believed they were innocent but took silent offense that they never seemed to check that part of the basement out. If they had, most of the cruelty could have been averted.

Both Detective Spader and David were appalled at the conditions the unknown young woman was kept in. They noted the other bodies filling the small hallway and the savagery of the throat cutting. “I can’t say as I blame the lady for doing what she did.” They reviewed more footage of what was recorded downstairs, so they got the full story of what happened.

“I think she knew what was happening and that it’s pre-emptive self-defense. If there is such a thing. But….if we catch her, she’s going to have to go on trial and probably will spend some time in prison. She’ll get a lighter sentence than if this was premeditated, but this sort of action can’t be tolerated by the justice system. We have enough problems with vigilantes as it is. You know that, Spader.” David sighed. He felt drained and he sat in a nearby chair, all strength threatening to leave him.

He glanced at his watch. Three thirty in the morning. Oh boy, oh joy. “How far away is your station? Would you mind if I slept in your barracks? I’ve been up and running for eighteen hours.”

“Jesus Christ, they must work you like crazy in the Bureau. I’ll drive you to the station. It’s not far.” Detective Spader led him to his car then they drove to the station, where David just managed to climb inside of a bed before falling asleep.


	2. In the Poconos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome. :)

Frank and Rogue arrived at the Poconos in the middle of the night. He drove the van and she slept on the floor amidst boxes of ammo, weapons, food and supplies. They were going to be up here for some time. Not only to avoid the cops, but for other activities as well. Rogue needed fresh air, exercise, and discipline--and Frank knew she needed to get well in other ways. He kept an eye on her for signs of drug withdrawal; it was his hope that the young woman hadn’t been on them long enough to acquire a dependence on them.

He glanced back at her. She slept fitfully, tortured by the accumulation of bad memories from him, her own, and her recent experiences. He sensed a resiliency in her and a deep desire to protect other people no matter the cost to herself. She was a tiger; he saw himself in her eyes. Ferocious and terrible. He had done that to her, planted that part of his personality inside her psyche. Frank had waited for that fierceness to go away, but it seemed to get stronger.

He took responsibility. 

He had a plan for her, if he invested some time, knowledge and energy into her. He thought of her as a halfway finished tool. Too dangerous to leave lying around, yet perhaps just as dangerous to finish making. But what he came to know of Rogue’s character was that she had strength and fortitude that made her a survivor.

The Punisher did not want others to live the life he did, but there was something different about Rogue. She would never have a normal life, or have children. Not with her mutant ability and not if she stayed in this—his--world. But perhaps there was another way for Rogue. The details had yet to be worked out and there were certain people that needed to be contacted. Frank thought he might need to cash in a few favors.

He did not want a sidekick. Sidekicks had a tendency to go ka-put.

He drove up an old, barely visible road. The van jostled Rogue into wakefulness, and she clambered into the seat next to him. “We almost there?” She looked out into the green forest, blanketed by night, amazed by the beauty and utter serenity. “This is nice!”

“It’s going to be a lot of hard work on your end. Don’t expect to enjoy your stay here.” Frank warned as he pulled up into a small campground area. An outhouse, what looked like a cement shower, and flat ground for tents. And a water pump. “Not the best time to raise a tent, but it’s not raining.”

They got out of the car and began to raise their shared tent. He kept the headlights on in the van. He made her do it over several times before he was happy with how it looked. He didn’t help unless it was necessary. He wanted her to get a taste of what the next five or so weeks would be like. They put up the cots next, and he saw that she picked up on how to assemble the cot right away. /She’s a quick learner. Good. / Rogue made sure to put up the tent divider for privacy.

His next instructions were to secure the food from bears, by dangling the chest from the trees, and also to make sure weaponry was locked up. Except for a shotgun and their two handguns that Frank insisted they keep in the tent for any potential bear—or people--problem.

“Here’s your clothes. Keep them clean during any free time that you have.” Frank handed her several sets of green fatigues. She would not have much free time. “Get some more sleep. I’ll be waking you up in two or three hours.”

Frank kept true to his word. He woke her up at 4:30. He taught her how to make MRE’s, clean up, then began an exercise regimen for her. He taught marksmanship at about noon, more exercising, camp maintenance, and then close quarter combat training. He yelled at her like his old drill instructor did when she stumbled, and gave her a moment’s rest when she performed well.

Rogue, for her part, took the disappointments and learned from them. She wanted to be the best she could be. She wanted to be able to defend herself or others. She wanted to end evil men.

He watched with some satisfaction as she turned from a shy woman to someone who had a will of steel. She gained muscle weight. He forged her into a more than capable sniper. Rogue was good with guns, knew how to clean and care for them. She may have learned basic skills from Mystique, but he improved upon them. He encouraged her to think for herself and to question when appropriate. He taught her the fundamentals of being a good soldier.

Gradually the nightmares subsided, though she remembered what had happened to the Castle family and of his pain. She would always remember and always be respectful of that.

“Why doesn’t the US use female snipers?” Rogue asked as she surveyed the remnants of her targets with satisfaction. All headshots. “Russia used women as snipers. Ok, so a lot of them didn’t come home, but women can be great snipers.”

“Women aren’t allowed in combat units. That may change one day.” Frank said. 

Rogue thought that was a waste on the government’s part, but shrugged it off. She slung the rifle over her shoulder. “How’d Ah do?”

“You passed. You still need to try to load faster, but you’re a competent marksman.” Frank replied. He gestured for her to follow him deeper into the woods. The sun transformed the forest into an emerald wonderland and Rogue especially liked how the rays of light peeked through the leaves. The lovely day lifted her spirits. Frank was a true taskmaster, but she didn’t complain. She admired him too much and would gladly follow him past the gates of hell.

They quietly hiked for a few miles until Frank said, “Tell me more about Mystique. What’s she like, her strengths and weaknesses.” He sat down on a fallen tree, overrun by moss and Rogue did the same.

“She’s kind when she wants something from you and cruel when you refuse. She only cares about her wants and needs. She made me love her when Ah didn’t know any better.” Rogue hated talking about Mystique, but honored her promise to be forthcoming to the Punisher.

“Mystique has about seven safe houses in New York City. Now, Ah only know where three of them are, so don’t get too excited. She has a mutant boyfriend who’s in the mob. Johnny Toro. He creates and controls fire. He’s certifiably crazy. Weaknesses? Her vast ego is the most exploitable one. She ain’t as smart as you, but she’s exceptionally cunning.”

Frank heard of Toro, but thought the fire control was simply a rumor or he was somehow using a flamethrower. /Good to know he’s a mutant./

“Can Ah ask you somethin’?” Rogue looked up at him, sitting in green fatigues instead of his usual black or grey garb.

He shrugged. He might not answer but she could ask.

“How do you stop the pain?” Rogue asked, then immediately regretted the question. It really wasn’t any of her business or concern. “Ah’m sorry. That’s too personal.”

He studied her for a long moment before he gestured down at her sidearm. “That’s how.”

Rogue blinked then figured it out.

“Let’s go. We should start heading back.” Frank said before a blood curling scream tore through the peaceful serenity. The man headed for the source of the sound, coming through some bushes to a top of a clearing. An RV was parked at the edge of it, framed by two bikes. Harley’s by the look of them.

Tension hung in the air, tight as a violin string, and both people felt it. He dropped to the ground and motioned for Rogue to do the same. 

She sidled up next to him and looked over the rise of the terrain. What they saw horrified Rogue. Three men were grabbing at a bound woman, who, other than having dirt on her face and torn clothes, seemed to be alright. Rogue heard her muffled cries and her lip curled in disgust. She glanced over at Frank, who nodded at her. This was a situation in which they should intervene.

The demeanor of these men spoke of violence and depravity.

“They’re from a biker gang Check out the vests.” Frank frowned. Odd behavior for bikers. Normally, they left women alone. But then, he noticed a pack of crystal meth, the contents of which were strewn about on a cheap, plastic table. It was possible they were getting high off their own supply. Or possibly just that they bought a shit ton of it. The meth use would account for the ‘odd’ behavior. He loathed meth, more than most drugs. It ate people’s souls.

“You’re gonna be a fun fuck tonight!” That deep voice came from the man nearest her, a rough unkempt man. They all appeared unkempt and she wrinkled her nose at the smell of alcohol.

The woman cried and begged for mercy. A harsh slap silenced her to faint whispers.

That confirmed Rogue and Frank’s decision to intervene.

“Pick a position and get ready to shoot if I say. I’ll take point.” Although he would prefer for her to not kill again, he’d rather the other woman remained unharmed. He ordered as he disappeared into the brush. Frank would study the situation and make a judgement call based on tactics.

She carefully rose to her feet, though in the crouched position. She picked a good location. Downwind, and where any light would not glance off the scope lens. Rogue laid on the ground, scooped out her ammo, and readied herself. It didn’t take her long to spot Frank. He had his tactical shotgun at the ready and looked to be counting heads.

She did the same and she held up three fingers. He nodded in agreement, then waited. Frank pointed at the man farthest away. His plan was to distract the others with a sniper shot, then bull rush the men around the woman. He’d thought about it and reluctantly came to the conclusion to use Rogue as a distraction while he killed the other two.

Rogue loaded the .308 caliber bullet into the rifle, took aim and fired. The bullet found its mark as it pierced the man’s eye. He was dead before he hit the ground. The top of his head resembled hamburger.

Frank shot one man’s head off in a grisly display of red and the other received a shot to the gut then a boot to the neck, crushing the windpipe. He died a few agonizing minutes later. He circled around to where Rogue kept hidden to see how she was doing.

A shadow fell across her and then she saw Frank towering over her. “You made it through alive. How do you feel?”

“Peaceful.” Rogue said. She got no joy from the killing of a man, but these particular men would now lack the ability to kidnap innocent young women. She stood up and dusted herself off, then picked up her rifle again. “Let’s go check the woman, see if she’s ok.” She went down over the edge of the small hill and toward the woman who now was in the fetal position.

/Peaceful. That’s not a good sign. It’s too late for her. Best I can do is to direct her in a useful direction. I better call Fury. / Frank thought.

“Hey, it’s ok. You’re ok. We’re not going to hurt you.” Rogue managed to say, soothingly.

The woman peered up at her behind the tangled, matted mess of blonde hair. “Th-thank you. So much.” She saw the carnage and blanched, fell silent.

Rogue sighed. “What’s your name?” It was Rogue’s intent to get her moving away from this place and she wanted to make the other woman feel secure with small talk.

“Esme Walters. I’m a coll-college student.” Esme gained her feet after Frank undid her ties with his Ka-Bar.

“Did they hurt you in any way?” Frank’s gravelly voice startled Esme, and she shook her head.

“Nothing too bad maybe a bruise here and there.” Esme lowered her head. He intimidated her and most people that crossed his path.

Frank examined the RV. It was a mobile meth cooking lab. He knew exactly where these assholes got the idea. He hated that show. He sneered and picked up several bags of meth, as well as re-bagging the open one. Frank was not about to leave this here. The bodies, sure. The police were going to take care of all that anyway.

“What were you doing with these men?” Frank asked.

Esme glanced at her feet. This huge man scared her way too much to try to lie. His eyes seemed to know all and judge all. “I wanted to try meth. I heard it was fun. I ran into a biker and he brought me up here to party.”

Frank believed her. “Stay away from drugs, they’ll rot your insides.”

Rogue almost snorted at Frank’s public service announcement but then turned her attention to the problem at hand. Esme.

Rogue asked, shifting on her feet. “What are we going to do with Esme? We can’t leave her here. Who knows if more people will show up?” She studied the environment, testing it for signs of additional human activity. She found none, but thought they should get going.

Frank agreed with her. “Better get ready for a hike.”

They made their way through the forest as fast as Esme’s fitness level would allow, which wasn’t very fast. The trio showed up at camp just after the sun went down. Frank wasn’t happy about that, but at least they were there.

“Who are you people?” Esme saw their camp and wrinkled her nose. Survivalists? Weirdos? Militia? She guessed militia to be the most likely choice, since they carried guns. And the rifle the other woman carried, creeped her out. /Who is she to him? / Esme wondered. /She obviously likes him, but he …I don’t think he likes anyone. /

He told Rogue to breakdown camp. They couldn’t stay here now after the RV incident. And any more training could take place in the city: Rogue had the fundamentals and the discipline down.

“We’re environmentalists.” He said dryly to the girl they rescued. He offered no names and Esme, wisely, did not ask. Frank helped Rogue put things away in the van. He deliberately hid the guns and ammo with the tent.

“Ah’ll sit in the back. Esme can sit in front.” Rogue said. Neither one wanted Esme to poke around.

The trip to the nearest town was quiet. Esme stared out the window, still nervous to be around these people, but they helped her to get out of a bad situation. After about an hour, he stopped in front of a diner, pulled out a twenty and told her to call her parents then get something to eat

“Thank you, sir.” Esme said. She truly was grateful.

“You can thank me by staying away from people like that. Use your brain.” Frank said. He hoped this would be a wakeup call for her. Some people just wandered the world with the delusion of safety in their heads. Esme was one.

He backed up the black van, then drove back onto the highway. Rogue slid into the seat beside him, relieved to be heading back to the land of hot showers and real food.


	3. Chapter 3

David spent the past five weeks pouring over all the FBI files on the Punisher. His past, military training, and psychological profile—so much as they could gather—intrigued him. David held a deep sympathy for him. Frank Castle was a tragic figure and there was a part of David that wanted to reach out to the man.

He knew what it felt like to be lonely.

The hairs in the basement were tested and the results had come in that day. The DNA from the black hairs were a match for Castle’s, so there was confirmation that Frank had been imprisoned—however briefly—in the small room. The other hairs were from a woman and the lab also determined she was a mutant, which surprised David. Her DNA was not in CODIS, so no identity had been obtained.

He turned to another tab in the file and read personal accounts from the people he helped. /So much rich complexity to this man. / 

Just then, a phone rang. He read the screen and recognized the extension as his boss’s. /I better answer it. / “This is Agent Salvatore. How may I help you?”

His boss, Angelo Martin, said, “I want you to come down to the morgue. Some hunter and his dog found the skeletal remains of three individuals buried in the woods about three months ago. We believe two of the remains are of the Castle family.”

He started in his chair. He remembered when an asshole—David could not think of the name--had dug up the Castle family to piss off Frank. The remains had disappeared and it had been assumed that Frank moved them to parts unknown. “I’ll be right down.” He hung up and headed down the stairs—he was too excited to wait for an elevator—at a rapid clip.

It didn’t take long to find the metal morgue doors and go through them. The remains were reverently laid out on three metal exam table. He approached them, heart beating in his throat.

“The woman is presumed to be Maria Castle; the girl is Lisa. The girl’s DNA is a combination of Frank Castle and the woman’s. So we feel confident in identifying those two. “Assistant Director Angelo Martin said, then showed him a plastic film with images of the DNA. “However, the boy is not a match for either Maria or Frank. He is not biologically related at all.”

David shrugged. It was odd that Frank Jr’s remains were not with Maria and Lisa, but maybe Frank Junior was buried somewhere else. “They need to be reburied.”

Assistant Director Martin replied, “No. The skeletons are evidence and will be catalogued as such. They’ll be put in the Punisher room.” The Punisher room being the rather large room solely saved for the vigilante.

“This is disrespectful. They’re not evidence. They were people and people deserve to be buried with dignity.” The remains seemed to lay out the very soul of what Frank Castle used to be. It was indecent to look at them. They were a visual reminder of his humanity, of his lost fatherhood—which affected David greatly. He loved being a father and could not imagine the agony of losing one of his children.

“So that some other looney bin person who wants to fuck with the Punisher can dig them up and use them as marionettes? They’re safer here. They’ll be put in a box and won’t be gawked at. And what’s it to you?”

David broke his gaze from Maria’s skull and the sight of her broken ribcage where a slug had gone through. The file said she bled out on the operating table. Her last word was ‘Frank’. “It’s indecent to me, is all. They should be buried in a safe location.” /Not to mention what would happen if the Punisher found out his family was here, he’d be pissed and I couldn’t blame him. /

Angelo changed the subject. “How’s your dad doing?” He motioned for David to follow him back to the office. He wanted to go over the case involving the priest.

“His cancer is terminal. Doctors say he’ll have two or three good months left then who knows.” David sighed, feeling glum. He ran a hand through his jet black hair. His adopted father wanted him to visit him soon and he better get around to it. With work being crazy, then Morena’s financial demands, trying to take care of all their children, and the stepfather suddenly not wanting David to see the youngest children, David was about to tear his hair out. David began to think about suing for full custody.

Angelo hissed through his teeth. “Jesus. I didn’t know it was that bad. After we go over the Church incident, how about you take off early and see him? Take tomorrow off too. My orders.”

“I would really appreciate that.” David said as they entered his office and they began to discuss what was going on with the case.

An hour or so later, after slogging through NYC traffic, he showed up at the long term care facility that housed his father. /I really could use a shot of whiskey. I really could. Thank God, I have tomorrow off as well. I’m going to sleep in, then eat the biggest stack of pancakes New York City has ever seen. /

David’s sense of obligation kicked him in the ass. Hard. It’d been two weeks since he’d seen his father and he felt guilty. He knew his dad wasn’t going to live much longer, yet still avoided him. David entered the long term care facility, smiled at a nurse, then went to his father’s room. A priest exited the door to his father’s room, took a look at him, and scurried down the hall, to visit some other ailing Catholic.

“Hi Dad.” David said, then came in with a smile. “I’m sorry that I haven’t been by for a while.” The man before him appeared to be wasting away, no longer the hearty man of his youth.

Carlos Salvatore lit up at the sight of his son. “Oh, I know you’re busy with your life and work. I’m just glad to see you. I was talking to the priest just before you came in. Gave my confession. I need to make right with God over what I’ve done. He told me I need to start confessing and asking forgiveness for my sins.”

“Then that won’t take long because you were a good man and good father.” David patted his father’s hand.

“No, son. I’m not. I’m not a good man or father.” Carlos coughed and David did what he could to make him comfortable. “But I have to get this off my chest. I can’t wait anymore; it’s been tearing me up for forty years. I stole you from someone who needed you far more than I did.”

“What do you mean?” David was deathly still. Apprehension filled his mind and he wondered what his father was going to confess to.

Carlos tried to find the words but started telling a story, “It was a beautiful day when we went to the Park. I had the day off, so we packed a lunch and headed out. We took our only child with us, a happy boy. Light of our lives. There were a lot of other families there and we sat near, but not too close to, another happy family.” He grabbed his cup of water and sipped from it.

He continued, “Our little boy approached another one and started playing. Neither of us cared. They were kids and in our sight. Besides, the dad looked like one of the military types. Strong, big, a good person. Trustworthy.”

David did not like where this was going. That apprehension was beginning to ball up into his stomach and he felt it transform into more like dread.

“Then the gunfire started. I saw the woman take one to the chest, then the little girl gets gut shot. The man went down after two shots. I didn’t think, I just ran over and grabbed one of the boys. It was…. chaos, a war zone, and both of them had dark hair. I ran over the hill with him. I glanced back and I saw the man hold a boy in his arms. The expression on his face will haunt me til the day I die. It was not what I would call sane, but I felt so much sorrow for him. I do to this day.”

Carlos hit the button connected to an IV drip for more morphine. “I looked down and saw I had the wrong kid. During all the confusion, I grabbed his boy. He must of thought that the dead one was you. Couldn’t blame him. He just watched his family get wasted. Reality plays funny tricks in extreme circumstances.”

David could hardly believe this, but kept his cool. “What happened after?”

“My sergeant and I decided it would be best to allow everyone to think the entire Castle family got offed. We paid someone to make a false ID on the kid. So I let them bury Roberto with the Castles. We didn’t want the mob to come after you, and I was protected. I was being paid by the Mafia at that time. If something happened to my family, the mob would have been exposed. One did not kill a cop with impunity at that time.”

Now David started to lose his cool. “How could you do that? How could you do that to another father?”

Carlos admitted, “Yeah, it was a shitty thing to do, but we lost our boy. The only kid we were able to have. Your mother and I loved you and so we found a way to adopt you. It wasn’t what I would call legal.”

David searched himself and remembered calling out to his real father. “I barely remember this, but I cried for my dad for days. You told me that he didn’t want me anymore. You told me until I believed it.” He also remembered: Panic, terror, a flash of gold and crimson. A man screaming in pain.

“That was wrong of me, but what else was I going to say?” Carlos asked.

David stood up. He had enough of this and his anger rose, an inferno of both anger and profound sadness. “You helped create the Punisher. You helped damn a man.”

“He made his own choices.” Carlos started.

David snorted derisively. “You took a choice away from him when you stole me. I’m seriously pissed off right now and I need to leave and do some thinking before I say anything I’ll regret.” David stormed out of the room, unable to forgive his adopted father and torn by conflicting emotions. Carlos had been good to him, raised him to be a decent man. But on the other hand, he had been a corrupt cop and used his influence to conceal and steal another man’s child.

He went directly back to his apartment and poured himself a stiff drink.

“It’ll be easy to find out if he’s telling the truth. I can just take a swab and swipe the inside of my mouth. The tech owes me a favor; I’ll just have her do it off the record.” He muttered and helped himself to another drink. Then another. “And if I need to double check his story, it won’t be hard to take his DNA and compare it to the unknown boy.”

By five, he was blazing drunk and he meandered over to his bed just in time to pass out. As like every time he imbibed too much, he ‘enjoyed’ no dreams. And he made sure he stayed drunk until the next day.

He came to work bleary eyed but able to function. It wasn’t difficult for him to find a swab kit and take his own DNA. He gave it to the tech and told her to run it against the Castle DNA and that he would like the results as soon as possible. “Off the record, please.”

The tech shrugged and did her job. He did a favor for her and so it was her time to do the same for him. She accepted the kit and got to work.

The FBI agent dug into his work, mostly writing a report then making a few calls.

David got an email from the tech later that afternoon, saying that the DNA was a match for both Frank and Maria Castle. David told his supervisor, Angelo, that he wasn’t feeling well, and left for home. He almost caused a car accident, swerved in time to avoid it, then opted to pull off to the side of the road.

His heart started beating fast and he got dizzy. The world around him spun like a top and David knew he slipped into a full panic attack mode. Panic, terror. A flash of gold and crimson. A man screaming in fear.

This time, though, more details crept in. The girl lay yelling for “Daddy”, as her intestines rolled out. Someone that had similar features as him, but larger in shoulders and heavier in muscle, cried out for her. A beautiful golden haired woman clutched at her chest while wordlessly begging the man for help. A shot took the other boy out that he wanted to play with. Strong hands that pulled him from the danger and away from his family.

Five minutes later, the terror subsided and he heard a knock. A cop peered in and David managed a smile. He sat up and rolled down the window.

“Are you OK, sir?” The officer noted this was a government vehicle. The plates and antenna gave it away. David saw the man, dressed in a crisp blue uniform, appeared to be concerned. 

/I must look like hell/. David said to himself. Cars passed by, multitudes of colors. David wondered where they were going.

“I’m sorry, Officer. I wasn’t feeling well so I pulled off to the shoulder. I’m doing better now.” David managed a wan smile. Worn out is what he felt, as if he’d been put through several marathons.

“Mind if I see your license and registration?” The other man asked. Boredom etched on his face, overriding the concern that had been there a minute ago. The officer clearly heard it all before.

“Sure.” He dug them out along with his badge and government ID.

“FBI?” The officer, last name of Samson, sounded surprised. He handed back everything given to him. “You go home and take care of yourself. I’ve seen dog turds healthier than you.”

“I plan on it, sir.” David watched the officer as he went back into his vehicle before driving toward home, he wanted to make sure the cop got in safely. The rest of the drive went uneventfully and he parked in the garage under his apartment.

He made dinner and ate on his loveseat. Tuna salad and milk. He turned on the TV and listened to the news. /Strange. No news of vigilante justice. In fact, it’s been quiet on that front for some time. Did the woman kill the Punisher? Did someone else? / The activities of Daredevil didn’t really count. He only smashed people’s skulls in, he did not kill them--as far as David knew. Though how Daredevil avoided killing people was strictly by the grace of God. Daredevil could be a violent man.

But more importantly, what was he going to do? He knew he was obligated to recuse himself from the Church case, though that one was probably going to go cold. If he did take himself off the case, what would be his explanation? It wasn’t like he could say ‘Oh, I’m related to Castle.’ If a reporter got wind of that, and it was juicy enough they just might, it would be plastered all over the news. He did not want to get shot at. Moreover, he did not necessarily want a visit from Frank Castle.

/Or do I? OK, maybe not having the news blast it, but am I morally obligated to let him know? As a dad, if I were in his shoes, I’d want to know. The question is: Does he? / David leaned back and stared at the ceiling. /Then there is the problem of finding him. NYC is huge and he could be in any of the Burroughs. Or in none of them. /

David put his plate away. /I’m in the FBI. I have resources at my disposal. My case? I could use that as an excuse to search for him.

He turned his attention back to the news. Some girl named Esme Walters ended up rescued by a huge man and his female companion. That piqued David’s curiosity. It was piqued even more by the fact that she was a congressman’s daughter. 

/That’s it./ He tossed on his work clothes, called work to let them know what was happening, then headed for Pennsylvania.

****

He pushed his way into the congressman’s office and asked to see Esme. At first, Roger Walters did not want the FBI to interview his daughter, but she spoke up.

“I don’t mind, Dad. I really don’t.” Esme smiled. “He was gruff and kind of scary, like a drill sergeant. The girl, about my age, seemed nice and sweet, even if she had a rifle on her. They wore stuff you might see in the Army. I asked who they were and the man said, ‘We’re environmentalists.’ But they weren’t. Militia or paramilitary, maybe.”

He brought out pictures of Frank then a blown up picture of Rogue from the church surveillance. “Do you recognize these people?”

“That’s them!” Esme exclaimed.

“Do you know where they were heading?” He asked, all professional.

“New York City.” She said. “I saw a road sign as they dropped me off. Said New York City 58 miles.”

David asked another question, “Did the woman say what her name was?”

Esme shook her head, blonde locks all silky and free, “No. Neither did he. Just gave me advice on who not to trust and gave me dinner money. Do you know who they are?”

“The woman, no. I was hoping you could help me with that, but that’s ok. You’ve been extremely helpful. The man, however, is Frank Castle otherwise known as the Punisher.” David slid the pictures back in his folder.

Both of the Walters’ eyes widened. “I thought he killed people. Why didn’t he kill me?” Esme thought of the bikers then blushed. She was being stupid.

“He does, but only certain kinds of people. Drug dealers, murderers, rapists, human traffickers—people who commit heinous crimes.” David supplied. “In fact, he and his companion are wanted in connection to slayings of several organized crime members. It’s why I’m here, to attempt to track them down.” That hunch of his paid off. Big time.

“Oh. She seemed so nice.” Esme faltered.

David felt like he was dealing with a simpleton. “Can you remember anything else?” He wanted to get going. The hunt was getting in his blood. And besides that, the girl hurt his brain.

“The license number is 345 SIX. I saw it when I came up to their van. I have a good memory for numbers.” Esme smiled at David, all bubbly innocence.

/My God, I’m dealing with an idiot savant!/ David thought with a thick vein of sarcasm. “Thank you both. You’ve been most helpful.” He shook the congressman’s hand then went to his car. It was going to be a long day.


	4. Chapter 4

Rogue plunked down at a table to clean out her rifle. Disassembled it, oiled it, then put it back together. Then she moved on to her black M9A1 Beretta handgun, a boot camp graduation gift of sorts from Frank, and did the same thing. She would not stop until she saw the insides gleam. She liked the feel of it in her hand better than the cannon that was the 1911. It gave her superior accuracy and had a soft trigger pull, which meant less pressure was needed to pull the trigger.

Frank busied himself by making sure his armor was repaired and in good working order. He’d taken care of his guns earlier. Then he moved onto reloading shotgun shells. He used a specific press to do it, and she watched the whole process. 

She put her sidearm back into her thigh holster, which had straps around her leg and buckled to her belt. “Ah think we’re bein’ stalked. By some Fed. Heard he’s been sniffin’ around 50th and Main.” Which, she noted, was about ten blocks away. For some reason, her instincts told her that this particular man knew how to pursue his quarry.

“I know. I’m keeping track of him. Hope he has the sense to stay away from 53rd. That neighborhood has no love for LEO’s.” Frank said, then took a seat next to her. “He’s been asking about you specifically. My bet he’s working the Church incident.”

Rogue sighed. She’d be dead meat now if it weren’t for Frank, but she didn’t want to give him trouble, either. She liked the man and believed what he did was needed. “Ah ain’t causin’ you too much grief? One person can disappear easier than two.”

“No. He’s just one man, and I’ve had greater challenges.” Frank said. “It’ll be fine. Just be careful when you’re out. If you suspect you’re being followed, don’t come immediately back here. Lose him in a crowd.”

“Ah don’t know, Frank. Somethin’ about this man feels different to me. Ah talked to the shop keeper earlier today while you were in the Bronx, the one we’re friendly with, and she showed me a picture of him. He’s intense, Frank. He looks like he knew his business.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a picture. The man was built, being around Frank’s own size and muscle tone. Attractive with bright blue eyes. Rogue thought he resembled Jon Hamm.

Frank studied it, then frowned. It entered his mind to ask her why she didn’t bring this up sooner, but there had been no real opportunity. This particular FBI agent was different. He saw what Rogue had been talking about. This man knew his trade—tracking people down. His eyes could dissect a situation—or people—to find the truth. Frank drew upon his own acute sense of judgement—and that this man also had—and came to the conclusion they had better be extra cautious.

“It’s unusual that he doesn’t have a partner. Most of them do when they are working a case. It’s safer that way. He must be doing something off the books.” Frank mused. He would be mindful of the agent, but not worry too much. 

Rogue rose to her feet and headed for the small, concrete area where they kept the food. It was too sparse to call a kitchen, just a place for food preparation. “You hungry? Ah was gonna make some stir fry.”

“Sure.” It suddenly felt uncomfortable to have someone cook for him and he was reminded of how Maria loved to make meals for the family. He remembered her infectious smile and fell silent. He hadn’t had anyone to make him dinner for a long time. He glanced over at Rogue, who cooked happily away. After all these years, an echo of him still missed Maria.

But, he stayed silent as Rogue served up the stir fry on brown rice and handed a plate to him. He ate without talking as Rogue, aware that he apparently didn’t have anything to discuss, stayed quiet as well. She picked up their plates and did the dishes. 

“You’ve been dancing around the topic of Mystique since we were in the Poconos.” He said, mostly to break the awkward silence.

“Because it hurts, Frank. It hurts to think of her. You know what she did to me when Ah disobeyed? Which was a lot? Whipped me. She’s a sociopath.” Rogue said. “She’s dangerous, Frank. Ah know you could handle her if you saw her coming, but chances are, you won’t. And Ah don’t want anythin’ to happen to you—not by duplicity. Not by her. Do you realize you’re the only person who has treated me with any sort of respect? And how much Ah respect YOU for that? Ah’d go to hell for ya.”

The expression in her eyes brought to mind Lisa. He realized that Rogue saw him as a father figure. Maybe even loved him as such. Bringing Rogue here was a bad mistake, not for me. For her. I’m no father. I have no family. I lost my chance at that a long time ago. But it would take a harder heart than his to hurt her. “I’m going out to the Bronx again. Don’t wait up.” 

He grabbed his rucksack and walked out to his van. He put it in the back, then drove out to where he was going to obliterate a nest of gang banging assholes. Only to find someone had been there before. The hangout was completely shot out. Rather sloppily, he said to himself, could be another gang that wanted their turf. An innocent easily could have got killed.

He listened as two detectives conferred amongst themselves. Luckily, they were close to his van and he was able to catch their conversation. 

“Nyah, not the Punisher. Too messy. No military precision. Bunch’a amateurs that just think they’re soldiers did this.” The older detective said. 

At least one of the NYPD’s finest has some common sense, He thought, with a touch of sardonic dryness. 

After listening to some of the more sundry details, he carefully pulled out and made his way back to the safe house. Still, that bothered him, nagged at him. He had been there just that day, scoping out the territory and prepared for a bust. And then, completely wiped out by the time he showed. Something’s funny. I don’t believe in coincidences. 

He got out of the van, and headed for the door. He entered the safe house and called out for Rogue.

She wasn’t there. Neither was her coat. He shrugged, feeling a little uneasy about it, but Rogue was an adult. She could leave if she wanted to. When the clock struck 3 a.m., with still no Rogue, Frank began to arm himself. He was worried now, and started to think that perhaps the FBI agent had managed to track down Rogue. Or worse, she’d gone into a bad neighborhood.

 

Rogue went for a walk to clear her head. What did you expect from him? A warm, welcoming hug? That ain’t his style. Ah’m an idiot for thinkin’ he might feel the same. The night stung her cheeks and oddly made her feel better. She paid attention to the rhythms of the street. Of the lowlifes behind her. They’d been following her for about two blocks now.

“Hey sweetie, looking for a good time?” One of them asked and she turned around to count four of them.

“No. Ah’m not. Leave me alone.” Rogue was glad her coat was long enough to conceal her gun. She saw them move like a pack of wolves around her. Great. A group of yahoos. Ah better get ready to teach them some manners. Unless it went bad, she wasn’t planning to shoot them. Just beat some sense into their asses. She needed additional CQC experience anyway.

The leader, a Latino with a shark smile and bright eyes, replied. “C’mon, baby. It’ll be fun. You’re cute and if you play your cards right, you might get to be my main chick.” The girl was smoking hot, he thought, with a face that would break hearts. And probably had an ass that wouldn’t quit.

The other men leered at her as if they were imagining her breasts. Rogue was disgusted.

“You really know how to pick up a woman, don’t you?” Rogue’s eyebrow raised in question. “Look, Ah ain’t about to get with a man Ah just met. Ah only want to be left alone. So scram and find a hood rat to accommodate you. “

The Latino, whose name was Renaldo judging by the gold chain around his neck, made a grab for her arm. With the palm of her hand, she slammed it against his nose. A crunch then a spurt of blood followed. “What the fuck…” She then punched him in the throat, rendering him useless and studied the others.

Inevitably, one pulled out a Bowie knife and lunged at her. She adroitly managed to put a leg behind him and used her hip to throw the man onto the asphalt. The surprise move made him drop the knife and she picked it up. She knocked him out with a punch to the head. He’ll be ok. Granted, he’ll have a headache but that’s what he gets for accosting young women. 

“Who’s next?” She growled. The other two men sized her up and decided she was too tough for them. They split, leaving their friends with her. “Too bad your friends chickened out. Ah was about to show them a ‘good’ time.” She spied a telephone pole and knew what to do. “But Ah’ll give YOU a good time—mah version of it, anyhow.”

Rogue pushed Renaldo against the pole, seized his hand and pinned it to the pole with the knife. He screamed, but could not bear to pull the knife out of the center of his hand. “Ah don’t ever want to hear of you doin’ this to another lady. If you do, our next talk won’t be so pleasant.”

After that, Rogue’s desire to take a walk was satisfied, so she went back to what she called home. It gave her time to think about where her life had been and where it was going. Destination: unknown. The unknown is better than being stuck with Smurfette, that’s for sure. Why did Ah give her so much of mah trust? Best not follow that line of thought. Just move forward and kick ass—stop wastin’ time on nonsense.

She watched the city darkly seethe as she moved. Sleazy pimps with strung out hookers—all of age, she observed with a critical eye. Something in the way Rogue moved told the pimps to avoid her. Maybe it was that she had the cocky strut of a fighter or the gleam in her eye that said, “I’m not to be fucked with, boys.” She saw a few druggies shooting up, and part of her ached for them. Ah can’t help ya. Wish Ah could tell ya to stop wasting your life on that shit. Ah wish you would just wake up and realize you’re wastin’ your life. Ah wish you would LISTEN.

Before she knew it, she was back at the warehouse. The van’s here. He must have had a short night. She knocked on the door with a specific rhythm, so that he would know that it was her and not some other idiot, then let herself in.

Frank, just having finished preparing to go out after her, took a good look at Rogue’s irritated face. “What happened out there?”

“Four assholes made an attempt to get me to party with them. They kept on insisting. Ah kicked their asses. The feel good ending of the century. Ah didn’t kill ‘em, but Ah laid the hurt on ‘em. “Rogue removed her coat with a sigh. “You’re back early. Was the takedown easier than expected?”

“Someone got there before I did. Shot the whole place up like Swiss cheese.” Frank replied. “Very unprofessionally done.”

Rogue breathed, trying to relax. “Sounds like a territorial issue.” She sank into a chair at the table, adrenaline surged in her veins. It was three in the morning, but she knew she could not sleep yet. She replayed the incident over in her mind. Maybe I should have handled it differently?

“Could be.” He handed her a mug of warm tea, her favorite. Chamomile. 

“Thank you, Frank.” She smiled at him, grateful for this gesture of thoughtfulness. The scent of it hung in her nostrils.

“That’s what CO’s are for. Duty of care.” He added, gruffly. This is the best I can do, kid. “I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.” With that, he left her alone with her thoughts.

Bright and early the next morning, she trained with Frank in close quarters combat. Frank had the strong opinion one needed constant training and practice. When it came to CQC, Frank had a bigger reach, but Rogue was nimble and had the tenacity of a terrier. He drilled her in grappling maneuvers and how to disarm someone with a gun. He made her do it until he gave her a passing grade.

“Don’t forget: To minimize risk of injury to fists, go for soft areas such as the throat. Don’t be afraid to claw someone’s eyes out if you get the chance. The solar plexus is good if you want to knock the wind out of your opponent. “Frank instructed, as he showed her where to hit on his chest. “Hit hard. Grind your opponent to shreds of meat.” No problem on that account, Rogue is a fiend.

They continued until he deemed it time to rest and make a game plan for the rest of the day. Frank spoke up after Rogue caught her breath. “I’m going to Flatbush. I’ve already done solid recon on a location there. Do you want to come with me?”

“Sure,” Rogue replied. “What do you want me to bring?” She helped herself to a glass of water, then mopped her sweaty brow with a towel.

“The Barrett M82. You’re going to take sniper position.” He began to get ready for the trip. “My plan is set things up and wait for nightfall.”

Then they heard the knock at the door.


	5. Chapter 5

He put another red sticker in the map on his desk. He’d started canvassing Brooklyn and worked his way in. He checked in with shops. Some of the shopkeepers were cooperative, some were not. Some were protective of him, in their own way. His impression was that they were grateful for having someone like the Punisher around, that he protected them from ne’er do wells. He got more information out of them when he emphasized that he was NOT looking to arrest Frank. He also asked about the girl, but got shrugs out of them. I’d have better luck hunting a ghost than her.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe having a man like the Punisher is needed to help keep the wolves at bay. David thought. But what happens when that man is gone? The wolves will come back, hungrier than before. Frank was getting old, David knew, and although exceptionally fit for his age, there would come a time where his body failed. Or some punk got lucky. A stab of sadness went through David—the part of him that he was not able to ignore wanted to connect with Frank and let him know that he did not have to be alone. Frank had a family and he had a home.

He struggled with the moral and legal implications of what being Frank Castle’s son would mean. I can’t let anyone else know. Ever. And my birth certificate is fake, so everything else about my life is fake, too. He wondered how that would affect his job, if even the fact he was illegally adopted were to get out. I could lose my badge. Yet, it bothered David to not be completely honest with his life and he recognized the ethical trap that he himself resided in.

The agent put away his laptop and shoved away from his desk. I think it’s time to have a talk with Father Mark. He needed to go to confession and that seemed like the perfect time to bring the dilemma up. Though I will avoid mentioning Frank’s name, best to keep things ambiguous.

“How are you coming along on the Church case?” Assistant Director Martin asked from the door of his office. He held out a cup of coffee to David, which he accepted with a muffled ‘Thanks’.

“Gathering more data, analyzing it and compiling it in a report.” David said, truthfully. “Been out on the street, trying to see if there is a pattern to his movements. So far, everything is completely random. The man knows when LE is searching for him.”

Angelo Martin asked him, “What’s your opinion of Mr. Frank Castle? As a psychiatrist?” He appeared genuinely curious.

“He’s someone who has seen and lost too much. He feels guilt over not being able to save his family. There he was, a trained soldier, yet helpless as a baby when it came to them being killed. Then, the justice system failed him. His life is the stuff tragedies are made of. I sympathize with him.” David gulped down his coffee.

His boss and friend nodded at him. “You’re a decent man, Salvatore. You see good in people, even those who society claim are monsters.”

“It’s my opinion that there is good—no matter how superficial—in everyone.” David replied as he tossed the paper cup in his garbage.

Martin laughed, a hollow sound that chilled David. “Spoken like a true Catholic, always believing in the power of redemption. I hope nothing happens to break that belief of yours.” He grabbed the spare chair in the office and pulled it up next to his co-worker. “I hate his methods. I understand where he’s coming from, but we still have to try to collar him.”

“Of course.” David said, eyeing Angelo and thought there was another topic his supervisor wanted to discuss.

It took just a moment before AD Martin brought the subject up. “The tech accidentally blind cc’d me the results of the DNA test that you had her run. Where’d you get Frank Jr’s DNA, David?”

Yeah, cc’ing him was an accident. An accident done on purpose, David grumbled, but prepared an answer just in case of such an eventuality. “I ran a swab over some evidence in the Punisher room. I figured that it would be a worth a shot, since the unknown boy’s DNA didn’t match.” He made sure to cover his ass too, since getting into that room required agents to sign in. If Angelo Martin checked, and he would, David’s name would be on the sheet for the same day.

Angelo nodded, as if he accepted the story. To most people, it made sense and he could check it out later. “I just want to add one thing about Castle. I know you sympathize with him, and that ability is what makes you successful at tracking down the people you hunt, but be careful. Nietzsche said: Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”

Warning duly noted, David told himself. “Well, I’m done. I’m calling it as a short eight-hour day. “He needed to go talk to his priest then Kevin was supposed to be over later, and he wanted to spend time with his eldest son.

Angelo walked with him down the hall, making small talk along the way, and watched David get into his car. He thought for a second, went to the supply cabinet and got a pair of gloves and an evidence bag. Angelo snuck into David’s office and snapped the gloves into place with a crisp snap. With a Q-tip, he wrangled the coffee cup out of the garbage and into the waiting plastic sack.

Angelo’s boss—his REAL boss, not the boss at the FBI—wanted information on the agents under his charge. Especially the ones considered incorruptible, like David. Meticulously, Angelo combed through David’s personnel file. The Assistant Director discovered several peculiarities in Salvatore’s birth certificate—and he asked an expert to examine it. That specialist declared it a forgery.

Time to get this tested and see if we can find a hit on CODIS. I wonder if David’s real family are in prison. Angelo Martin smirked. He did not buy this story about swabbing out. He wanted to know what other secrets David could be hiding as possible leverage.

###

The cathedral, gray and stoic against the taller buildings in Brooklyn, seemed peaceful yet cold. To David, it spoke of a perfection unattainable by people. Painted glass windows told the often gory stories of the Saints. One of them played out the story of Saint Peter and his crucifixion. Another one showed the trial and tribulations of Saint Cyriaca, a Roman martyr who was scourged for her faith.

Instinctively, David already knew the answers, but he needed the comfort of his faith. He needed to feed his soul.

David greeted Father Mark while the older man knelt at the altar. “Father Mark, I’m sorry to interrupt you but would you mind talking with me for a few minutes?” David hated interrupting his priest at prayers, but didn’t have anyone else to ask about his particular situation. He straightened his tie, while the flickering candles on the altar taunted him.

“David! So glad to see you again. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve been to Mass.” Father Mark rose stiffly, and although there was a hint of curiosity, there was no reproach in his voice. The crinkly lines around his merry green eyes gave welcome to David. He emanated a pure, deep belief that made him beloved and trusted by his parish and David. “How may I help you?” He wore the black frock with white band and had an onyx rosary in his gnarled and wizened old hands.

“First, let me say that I’m sorry for missing Mass. Work’s been keeping me busy.” David was contrite. He did miss going to Mass, but he was kept so occupied lately and not just by work. I’ll just say a few Rosaries at home.

“You’re helping to keep people safe, like a shepherd watching his flock. That’s an important calling and is, in its own way, a form of worship and respect.” Father Mark squinted up at the younger man. “Just don’t forget to rest. You’re looking a bit peaked.”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot, lately.” David smiled at the Father, who patted his arm in a reassuring manner. “I was wondering if we could speak privately in your office if possible. I’ve got an issue that’s weighing heavily on my mind and I’m not sure how to handle it.” The church was currently empty, but who knows who could walk in.

Father Mark slowly made his way to a closed door and opened it. “Sorry, my joints are stiff from all this cold weather.” The room inside was cozy and inviting, lined with bookshelves stuffed with theological tomes. A worn cross hung on the wall, much loved and worn like Father Mark’s countenance.

Only when the heavy oak door was closed, did David speak. “I found out something important. I’m adopted, as you know, and I was recently informed that I was stolen. I’m struggling with the fact that my adoption is illegal and my real father is alive. I’m debating whether or not I should reach out to him. Mostly because I’m not sure of his reaction. I know it would be the right thing to do, just unsure if it’s the right thing for him or me.”

Father Mark shook his head in sympathy. “I’m sorry about that. Well, it’s all up to you. I know, not what you wanted to hear, but we have free will for a reason. If you feel as if it would make a positive difference in his life, go ahead. Do you want a relationship with this man?”

“That…that I’m not so sure about.” He admitted. “My feelings about him are rather ambiguous.” He took a breath. “Ok, that’s a lie. I feel a profound sadness but at the same time, I don’t approve of his lifestyle.” That’s the understatement of the century.

Father Mark asked another question, “Do you think a relationship with him would bring him peace?”

“Maybe.” That’s what David liked to think, but who really knew. “I’m sure his life would have turned out differently if I had been in it.”

“I think you want to reach out to him, but you’re afraid of rejection.” Father Mark.

Or of having my ass kicked. I doubt he’d kill me, but he certainly would be capable of making me regret contacting him. Granted, they were roughly the same size and build, but Frank was the better fighter. And by “better”, David meant meaner than shit. David was no slouch when it came to marksmanship, top of his class at Quantico, but feared he lacked good hand to hand skills, though he managed to subdue perpetrators by his sheer immensity.

David knew where Frank was. It’d been difficult and strenuous, but he pulled it off. He’d pinpointed him to a warehouse in Brooklyn and surveilled him and the girl both leaving and coming back. That information was not kept at work. He had a map set up there, sure, but it was mostly for show. The real results on his findings were at home, by his night stand.

“Yeah, I know what I want. Thank you.” David bade the Father farewell, then headed to his apartment.

Kevin waited for him inside the apartment, glad to be off base for the weekend and to just relax. “Hi, Dad. Long day at work?” He had already set up the cot in the living room. There wasn’t a lot of room, but enough for the both of them. A huge pepperoni pizza, half eaten, sat despondently on the coffee table.

David grinned at his big, strapping son. Kevin was, unlike most of his SEAL brothers, a humble and sweet person without the machismo almost characteristic of that special breed of man. Slow to anger, but once his temper was unleashed, watch out. David had only seen him mad once, and that was when his younger sister hid his homework just to piss him off. He’s like Frank in that way, a cold, burning anger that’s like dry ice.

“It’s been a long month at work. Thank God you came for a visit, gave me an excuse to not have to work even later. Mind if I grab some pizza?” He took off his holster and sighed. The tension of the day eased away, and it felt good to have someone here. The loneliness faded into memory.

“Go ahead. I’ve had my fill.” Kevin leaned back and stretched out his long legs. He turned on a scary movie while David devoured his meal.

“Thank you, Kevin. I haven’t had a meal since 10.” It was now eight o'clock. The pizza was gooey heaven in his mouth. He sipped a beer that Kevin supplied him, though Kevin wouldn’t have given it to him if he knew about the Zoloft.

Kevin understood. He had long days with little food, also. He knew how it felt. But he had something eating at him to announce, which is why he had the weekend free. He waited until his father finished eating. Scream played in the background though neither men paid much attention to it. “Dad, I’m being deployed in three months to Ukraine. I’ve made arrangements that if anything were to happen to me, you’d be the beneficiary of my life insurance. Not Mom. I don’t trust that ass hat she married.”

David’s heart sank through his feet, down through the floor and deep into the earth. A scary thought knowing his son would be deployed overseas, but he was saddened by the dread of missing Kevin. He’d be strong, though, for Kevin and support him. “I see. Well, I’m here for you.”

Silence followed as both of them were entwined in their own thoughts. The movie played on, almost unnoticed. One scared about what the future might bring, the other scared about losing his future.

 

Angelo stared at the results of the test then at the tech. “Are you sure? Absolutely?”

“Yes, I’m sure. His DNA is a match for the DNA he had me test earlier. And that DNA tells me that…” She felt her impatience rise. She hated having her work questioned, especially by this jerk wad clad in expensive suits and annoyingly bright silk ties. The Assistant Director was known for his quick temper and ambition. He would run over his own mother, if it furthered his agenda.

“You’re forbidden to speak of this to anyone or I’ll have your job. Hand over all the tests.” Angelo ordered, a finger pointed sternly toward her in admonition. This was fucking BIG. He’ll call his boss with the news. He didn’t know what the big guy would want to do with it, but was pleased to be able to give this particular individual such useful information.

She shrugged but did as ordered and gathered the printouts into a manila folder. “Everything is in the folder.” 

Her cold demeanor softened his, somewhat. “Thank you for doing this. I’ll make sure you get an unofficial bonus.” Maybe around $5000? With the tacit understanding that she stays quiet.

That made her give him a small smile. “That would be appreciated, but now I have more tests to run. I’ll talk with you later.” Then she went back to her work and he returned to his office, excitement in his heart and avarice on his mind.

 

Early Sunday morning, David dropped Kevin off at LaGuardia airport. The honks of taxis and the mutterings of pedestrians polluted the air. Lovely day, lovely place. He watched from the driver’s seat as Kevin removed his duffel bag. “I’ll talk to your mother. I’d like us all to have Christmas at my place before you head off.”

“I’d like that, too. “He read his military watch. “Dad, I love you, but I need to go. I’ve got just ten minutes to make check in.” Traffic, heavier than normal, impeded them tremendously. They were lucky to have made it in the time they did.

“Be safe. I love you, kid. “David replied, as Kevin merged with the crowd, head and shoulders above most other people. The loneliness crept back in, emptying his soul. 

He drove through Queens with one destination in mind. Brooklyn. Brooklyn might as well be named Crooklyn, he thought crossly. So much crime goes on here. I see why he keeps “shop” here. Ease of access to scum. And other sorts of villainy. He kept his eye on the grim scenery. I am so tired of all these people just looking out for themselves, taking advantage of others. So selfish. What happened to compassion?

He slowed his black Altima, provided by the Bureau, so he could scope out the neighborhood. Low rent, high crime. The black van was parked curbside, legally, and he saw the plate as clear as anything. 345 SIX. This was the place and it looked as if he were in, judging by the van. David noticed his heart beating faster and his palms were sweatier. Everything he wanted and needed to say to Frank vanished, lost in a haze of nervousness.

He found an empty parking spot and slid into it like a hot knife through butter. He stayed, paralyzed, in the driver’s seat. 

The agent exited his car, hit the lock button on the key fob, and crossed the street in a few strides. I feel compelled to do this. Something is pulling me, like a magnet. He stared at a steel door, unassuming and utilitarian.

He knocked on the door. “This is Agent Salvatore of the FBI. I know who’s in here. I’m not looking to make an arrest; I just want to talk. In fact, I have something important to tell you.” Silence.

Frank listened to the agent’s words and found truth. A monitor showed them that he was alone, which seemed to be a bold move for someone intent on hunting them down. This safe house is compromised. We’ll have to leave it behind. Frank dourly said to himself. 

“He’s better than I thought.” He said to Rogue. “I think I’ll listen to what he says. “

Rogue frowned. “Sure that’s wise? Ah mean, it ain’t like we’re gonna stay here after he’s gone, but ..”

Frank understood her concern. “It’ll be ok. No LEO walks into a situation with more than one potential threat if he has arrests on his mind.” Frank also intended to make him disarm before permitting him inside the warehouse. “I’ll ask him to disarm and hand his weapons to you, since you’re gloved up.”

Rogue trusted him. It would be rather stupid of him to make trouble with two theoretically armed suspects. “Then Ah’m with you. Let’s talk to the man.” 

Frank opened the door, but before allowing him to come inside, he told David, “Remove your service weapon and your sidearm. Hand them to the woman.” Frank refused to say her name. It was up to her to decide if law enforcement should have it. He reckoned that, being the obstinate person she was, she’d not give it. 

David did as instructed, though not very comfortable with handing the guns over to Rogue. He had the impression of nakedness, though he recognized Frank did this to insure trouble would not be made. He observed the spare surroundings, the basic concrete and metal ‘décor, if it could be called that. Very plain and Frank did not have much in the way of belongings. Certainly nothing sentimental or personal, at least as far as he could see.

“I don’t want to be rude, but may I ask your name?” He asked Rogue. It couldn’t hurt.

She laughed. “That’s classified information. If you’re not here on official business… Well, Ah don’t need to tell ya. Nice try, G-man.” She took the weapons and put them across the room, with Rogue and Frank between David and his guns.

“It never hurts to try, beautiful.” He gave his best charming smile at Rogue, while fighting off the nervousness in his stomach. Frank’s eyes were boring a hole right through him and he wondered how the lady could be at ease around him.

“Get to the point, Salvatore. This is not a social visit. “Frank said, bluntly. The agent was nervous and needed to focus. Frank did not have the time or patience to deal with frivolity.

David took a deep breath and told him, simply. “I’m Frank Junior.” Then he briefly described what happened that sunny day in the Park and the aftermath. He watched as Frank, stunned, became furious, a white hot inferno. Before David could think, he was slammed against a brick wall, with Frank’s forearm against his throat. Maybe his age isn’t as much of a problem as I thought.

“Don’t fuck with me. Don’t bring my son’s name up to me again.” Frank warned, a low growl in his throat. He applied more pressure as the FBI agent told him that he was not lying.

Rogue thought of what to do. She was stunned as well and they needed a way to be certain that he was telling the truth. There’s only one way that Ah can think of. Ah better hurry cause the big guy is getting pretty mad. She removed a glove and came up to the other side of the two men. Before Frank could stop her, she placed a gentle hand on David’s cheek.

“God damn it, no!” Frank yelled at her, but it was too late for the both of them. She absorbed David’s memories. Panic, terror. Blood and gold on a green field. Frank screaming and a sensation of being torn away. Father!

David slumped to the ground, barely conscious, his body hurting from the psychic injury. Rogue stumbled away, blindly, searching for something solid. Frank grabbed her and kept her from hurting herself. He held her tightly, a stabilizing force. She welcomed it.

“Frank, he’s telling the truth. He’s Frank Jr. He’s got DNA evidence back in his apartment.” Rogue panted, trying to recover. “Ah saw images in his mind. He was so little; he couldn’t remember everything. But just enough to confirm.” Now she had two different sets of memories from the same incident in her mind. She anticipated nightmares tonight and shivered.

“That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen you do.” He scolded her, more worried about her than the man on the floor. A quick glance told him David would be just fine. David moaned and stirred, trying to get up. A barked order from Frank stilled David for the moment.

Rogue groaned, face buried in the white skull on his chest. “Ah ain’t arguing. Not one of my best decisions.” She inhaled the scent of gunpowder and felt steadier. “It’s ok to let me go. Ah’ll be fine.” After he released her, she stumbled over to the old recliner and sank into it. She closed her eyes and shut out the world. Let Frank deal with David, she focused on herself.


	6. Chapter 6

Wilson Fisk, Kingpin of New York, poured his dinner companion a glass of expensive red wine. It paired well with the filet mignon which was served with thyme roasted potatoes. He smiled, a Cheshire cat smile, at his lovely blue companion. He admired how she embraced who she was and made no excuses. He also admired her capacity for extreme violence.

“You, my dear, have a fine grasp of politics. It brings to mind Machiavelli.” Wilson told her. This dinner was to celebrate their new partnership. A partnership in more ways than one. He refused to date for a long time after Vanessa died, but there was a quality about Mystique that was so provocative, so intoxicating. So lethal. He had to have her, and it hadn’t been difficult to convince her to ditch her ex-boyfriend. Mystique was as ambitious as she was lovely.

She returned his smile and sipped the wine. “And you have exceptional taste in wine.” They were dining on the balcony of his—no, their—penthouse suite. She knew they could rule New York together. Not too long ago, she would have been fighting for mutant rights, but now, she wanted power. True power.

“You did exquisite work in Flatbush. You made it seem unprofessional, like a street gang pulled it off.” He cut his filet mignon and delicately took a bite. Tender. Juicy. Exquisite taste.

“That was the point. I could have made it neater, but I didn’t want to attract the attention of any street heroes.” Mystique ate her own meal and found it to be delicious. His cook was extraordinarily talented. “What would you think I should do if I run into someone like Daredevil or Punisher?”

Kingpin thought for a moment. “Kill the Punisher, but leave Daredevil to me. I have unfinished business to conduct with him.”

For a moment, she mused about the fate of Rogue. Where is she? And why should I even care? She’s an ungrateful brat. Of course, I may just may not like children. And so she put Rogue out of her mind. The bitch was probably in a morgue somewhere. Moreover, even if Rogue were alive, Raven wanted nothing more to do with her. 

Dinner having been eaten, they relaxed and talked about her next foray. His phone rang and he begged for her pardon. Wilson answered it, not pleased to having been interrupted during his leisure time. “Hello, this is Mr. Fisk. “

“I apologize for interrupting you, Mr. Fisk, but I have some information that you might find useful.” Angelo Martin said, his voice more irritating over the phone than in person. 

The Kingpin was not known for his tolerance when being disrupted. He hated it, actually, and people who made a habit of it ended up gone. “Make it quick, Mr. Martin. I have plans tonight and you are intruding upon them. “A warning note crept into his tone. 

A tone that Angelo was quick to notice. “Well, I have dirt on one of my agents. It turns out he’s the son of Frank Castle.” He continued to give Wilson all the information available. It wasn’t as much as perhaps the perfectionist in Fisk would want, but more than enough to be useful.

Wilson felt his annoyance turn to interest. He could definitely make use of this and forbid Angelo to discuss it with more people. “I don’t want you to mention this to anyone else. I will use this in my way and on my terms. Have a good evening.” 

Mystique arched one red eyebrow in his direction. “Who was that?” She helped herself to another glass of sweet red wine.

 

“Just a worker bee supplying me with some honey. There’s been a change in plan regarding the Punisher. Don’t kill him. I’ve been given something to bridle him. I can see him being of some use in the future. You continue to hit the weaker gangs. Then we’ll work on the police next. ” Wilson grinned at her, his eyes glinting with a tactician’s sharp appraisal.

She frowned. She would not mind a shot at the Punisher; she’d seen his work and admired it. The man is talented. I wonder how big his ….M-60 is. “Your wish is my command.” She purred. For now.

Kingpin brought up another subject. “I want you to start recruiting kids. Young kids. About thirteen or so.”

 

Frank helped David to his feet, then took the younger man to lay down on his bed. He wanted to talk out of Rogue’s hearing. He wanted privacy. He grunted. He’s all muscle. Weighs a ton. David mumbled incoherently about a kid named Kevin, and Frank lowered him down on the military bunk, with tightly tucked in covers. Tight enough to bounce a quarter off. He inhabited the part of the bed that David was not using and waited for him to stir.

Frank stared at him, seeing the bones of the boy emerge from the flesh of the man. He knew that face, saw it when he slept. Dreamt of it. Had nightmares of him. He was Junior—that Frank could not deny. Sometimes I think God likes to fuck with me. For the first time, he did not know what to do, and he swam lost in conflicting thoughts.

It took a few minutes, but David regained some semblance of consciousness. “What the hell happened to me?” He shoved himself into a sitting position, head still aching and his body numb.

“That was the lady’s doing.” Frank gave him a brief rundown on her abilities. “She thought she was helping.”

David apologized, “I’m sorry. That was not the best way to tell you.” His throat still felt sore and rubbed it with a pained expression. She probably did help in this instance, but he no longer thought her quite as pretty. She packed quite a wallop.

“There is no good way to give someone that kind of news.” Frank replied. “Why did you decide to find me? After all these years?”

David ruminated on what to tell him. “I found out myself five, six weeks ago. The man who raised me is dying of cancer, and he needed to tell me for the good of his soul. I didn’t exactly believe him, so I ran a DNA test since the FBI has yours on file. It came back as a match.” David, cautious about mentioning their discovery of the other Castles, kept the knowledge to himself. “I’m a father and the idea—even for a second—of one of my kids dying would kill me. I thought you deserved to know.”

Grandchildren. Maria, we have grandchildren. Do any of them resemble you? Me? Frank looked at the cement floor, then back at David, who thrust a picture in his hand. David, a woman who possessed a dark beauty, and five children of varying ages graced the photograph. The eldest had his piercing blue eyes and strong jawline. “Five of them? Felt ambitious?”

He recalled the dream (or was it nightmare?) of his family not going to the park, of surviving and being intact. It nearly brought him to his knees knowing his son did survive and, to be honest, this situation seemed surreal. Frank had a thought that it was some sort of cosmic cruel joke and that Junior—now David—would be ripped away from him again.

David laughed, a rich brassy sound. “I like children and I was raised Catholic, so you know… Big family.” Frank’s bedroom consisted of a plain bed, a heavy duty chest and an unadorned table with a lamp. A metal overhead light supplied them with a cold and chilly glow. No decorations. Just empty of frivolities, a fitting simile for his father’s life.

My son. My son. My son. Frank couldn’t get those words out of his mind. The revelation changed nothing and everything; he had gone too far down this road of vengeance to settle down and be a part of a real family again, to be a doting grandfather. He could, however, try to make sure families stayed safe. He had something—no matter how tenuous the familial tie—to lose. That made him more hazardous. The war rages on and I’ll continue to fight it. He turned his attention back to David, “What did the cop tell you about me, after…after the incident?”

David winced, not positive on how Frank would react. “He said that you didn’t want me anymore and that you deserted me. He told me often enough so that I believed it.”

Hate. Rage. Murder. Frank revealed nothing of his opinions, but knowing the man was dying a painful death of cancer, opted out of going to pay him a visit. “At least he took care of you.” He finally said, and wrestled with his anger and resentment. Frank could overlook that he hid David, in fact, probably saved his son’s life, but he could not forgive the fact that the cop kept David for himself.

“Are you steady enough to stand?” Frank asked. He needed to check on the helpful idiot in the other room and make sure she was ok. He understood why she did it, but strongly contemplated having her run twenty miles as penance. And, to his way of thinking, Rogue owed David an explanation and an apology.

David tested out his legs, standing tall and unwavering. Or so he hoped. “I’m fine, Frank.” He made sure to leave the picture of the family on the table. He believed his father should have a picture of them.

When they came back out to the central hub of the warehouse, Rogue unfurled herself from the fetal position. Frank leaned up against the wall but David pulled up a chair next to her. “Ah’m sorry, David. Ah just wanted to find out the truth as quickly and cleanly as possible. Frankie Cranky Pants seemed like he was getting a little rough with ya.”

“You’ll have a better chance of me believing you if you tell me your name. And inform me about what happened at the Church. Some things aren’t adding up for me, and I’d like to hear your story.” David countered, not terribly fond of her at this moment, but willing to forgive her if she were completely honest with him, that is.

She grumbled and sighed. “Ok, G-man, mah real name is Lorelai Williams. Ah prefer to be called Rogue, since it’s a kick ass name.” She asked Frank, “Should Ah tell him about what happened there? The whole story?”

Frank nodded and leveled an iron hard gaze at her. She exhaled, focused and told David exactly what her powers were and why she was at the Church, up to the events leading to her rescue. She finished her tale and wished she had something to hide behind.

David, for his part, never felt so appalled in his life. “Now, I’m the one who has to say sorry. I’m sorry that you went through such mistreatment.” Her killing the priest seemed justifiable to him. Maybe not to a court of law, but she had his sympathy. What happened to her seemed tantamount to psychic rape and he grimaced with disgust.

She shrugged. “It sucks but Ah ain’t gonna sit around and wallow in mental filth. It ain’t productive.”

“Can you control them at all? Your powers?” He asked, smoothing his trouser leg. Intrigued, his gaze became glassy and introspective. Too bad, she’s a fine looking woman. Spirited. Dangerous. 

“Nope. That’s why Ah wear gloves. And don’t look at me like Ah’m a science experiment.” Rogue snapped and stood up. She silenced him as he tried to apologize. “The best apology is to not do that again. “She softened her words with a gentle grin. Her short, cropped hair tickled her chin.

Frank retrieved his son’s service weapons and handed them back to him. “I think you’d better leave if you’re feeling up to driving.” It was time to switch safe houses. Not everything had to be moved, mostly the arms, ammo and their very sparse personal effects. They could move in a single trip; Frank insisted on travelling light. Rogue picked up the habit long ago, before they met. 

“I have to be getting to work. There’s a lot on my plate.” David looked like he expected Frank to say something, but he didn’t. David wanted him to say anything, but Frank left him in the room with Rogue. He needed to pack what little he had.

Rogue came up to him and said quietly, “Don’t expect a father/son relationship with him. At least not right away. Your existence is a shock to him and he’s still processing it. Let him deal with it. “

David thought her words were wise. “I think you’re right.” She’s mature for her years.

“Keep in mind, he’s lost a lot of people who dared to get close to him. He might want to stay away to make sure you’re safe. Hell, Ah know for a fact, he’s tryin’ to foist me off on someone. “Rogue thought of Yorkie and O’Brien, cold and dead in their graves. Sarah’s safe in her anonymity. “And,” she cautioned, “Ah’m not sure just how many more people he can stand to lose. Especially you. So take care.” 

David put his guns back in their proper positions, under his arm and down by his ankle. Now he felt clothed again. Certainly less vulnerable. “You seem to understand him, better than most people.”

“Ah do. He touched me in the cellar. Wait, that sounds horrible. You know what Ah mean. “The young woman paused. She nibbled on her lip, considering for a moment what to say without betraying him. David saw her as a young woman who adored him, not in ‘that’ way, but as someone who would defend him to the bitter end. “He ain’t a monster, David. Just a man with a gift for warfare that would have been prized during the Crusades.”

She showed him outside and he put a card with his number in her hand. “In case you need anything. Or to talk. Completely off the record.” He dug for the pen he kept in his jacket pocket and wrote his personal phone number on the back. “If you’d feel better about calling me at home, there’s my own number.”

Somehow, she doubted she’d call, but accepted the card. If Ah do, Ah’ll buy one of those prepaid cell phones. “Thank you.” Then she went back inside and helped pack. They had a hit tonight and they needed to get ready for it. Unless Frank were going to call it off, which she would accept. I kinda hope he calls it off. His head may not be in the game.

David, from the Altima, watched her slip inside and the heavy door shut. “Time to head back to the office and get some real work done.” He trusted that he would see Frank again, in the vigilante’s own time.


	7. Chapter 7

“One shot, one kill,” Rogue murmured from her perch that overlooked the seedy bar where some Irish ruffians, who called themselves the Red Branch, were hanging out. They were dealing in arms and helped smuggle in some heroin, of course. The Red Branch remained small potatoes, really, but they were considered a nuisance by law enforcement. And they recruited mostly men with at least fifty percent Irish blood—as long as they had no Italian in them.

She asked him what he thought the Red Branch meant, and he replied, “The Red Branch was one of the royal Celtic houses of the king of Ulster. Supposedly. The truth of it has been buried by myth.” The man did his research, Rogue granted him that.

She brought herself back to the present and with her scope, watched Frank slide through the shadows and put claymores at the exits. Before he had her set up on her roost, Frank performed his mandatory exploration to determine if civilians, or victims, were inside. There were none, thankfully, which would make this mission easier.

Her job, naturally, was to be a sniper. She likened her task to being similar to a bird of prey. One swoop, one kill. And she excelled at it. She kept her blue eye on Frank, who signaled to her that it was clear to shoot when she could obtain a clean shot.

She focused on a rough man with irritating red hair. A gentle pull of her trigger sent him to the great beyond. She found another man with a beer gut. The .50 caliber bullet tore him in half like a gory piñata spilling its horrific secrets. Rogue spied another gentleman and her next metal kiss left a hole in his chest. The cartridges clattered to the ground.

Two loud booms told her that the idiots tried to leave through the exits. She heard the quick rat a tat tat of his SMG and yelps of pain. She picked off another one who thought now that the mine was cleared, he could leave. The bullet went through his neck, spraying the bricks behind him with blood. He who doesn’t punish evil commands it to be done. Quiet filled her after those men fell, satisfied that they would not harm another.

**

Mystique, bored with hanging out in the penthouse, requested Fisk’s leave to go entertain herself. It pained her to have to ask, but it was more of a polite inquiry. He smiled his Cheshire cat’s smile at her and waved her off. I guess I have to put up with some shit to live like a queen. Mystique hoped she’d be able to tolerate being smothered.

It was in her mind to snoop around the Red Branch bar, gather some intel, see what they had in terms of numbers and profits. They were a small organization, but ambitious. Those Irish bastards have a good work ethic when it comes to stirring shit up. Then she saw the barrel flash of an SMG. She drew closer to see the broad back of the Punisher administering his brand of permanent justice.

She smiled and withdrew a finely honed knife she always kept on her. She shimmered from a plain person who blended in quite easily on the street to her true self. I may not kill him. Just hurt him a little. Humble the sexy bastard. She snuck on cat’s feet toward her goal.

**

It was a good thing that Rogue kept an eagle eye on Frank, as he told her to, or Mystique’s knife would have sunk into his back. She noticed the woman shift into Mystique and Rogue blanched, extremely nervous. Oh god, Frank. She saw the glint of silver and knew if she didn’t do anything, Raven would kill her reluctant mentor.

She detached the magazine and put a fresh one in, hands still steady. Surprisingly so. What’s wrong with me that Ah can stay so calm? Cause Ah need to. It just ain’t me that’s in trouble. Ol’ Frank is too, if Ah can’t help him. She raised the Barrett rifle and fired. The bullet went to where Mystique was, alright, but she wrapped—there was no other word to describe it—her body around the .50 caliber missile.

That, at least, warned Frank, and he turned to see a blue streak kick him in the chest and sent him flying. He landed against the wall and Raven followed through with a series of vicious punches and scratches. She obscenely tried to grab at his crotch, but by then he got his wind back and he decked her across the mouth.

“Aww, Frank. I just wanted to see what kind of ‘pistol’ you had.” She pouted. She picked up some broken glass and threw it at him, glittery shards cutting his upheld arm. Lines of red appeared on his forearm. The cuts were not serious; he had worse injuries when he defended his fellow kids from bullies in the schoolyard at recess.

“My pistol is none of your business.” He snarled. He tried to fire his SMG, but it jammed. Just my god damned luck. Instead, he opted for his Ka-Bar, slashing at her with his painted black blade.

“I bet your pistol hasn’t been used since Maria--” She taunted, but saw the movement. Not in time, but the slash could have been worse.

It grazed her skin, a thin road of red melting with her skin to become a deep purple. She grinned, then launched into slick gestures that got her close to him, both fighters swiping and moving in a terrible yet beautiful rhythm. Both of them knew how to knife fight. His experience came from the military and hers came from the street. Frank had a good reach, but Mystique was quick on her feet.

Rogue maintained her steady watch. Most of the men were dead, but from her vantage point, a few clung to life. She altered her position to better snipe them. Three more meetings with God arranged. She couldn’t see what Frank and Mystique were up to, they had gone out of her sight, so she nimbly used the fire escape to make contact with the street again. She slung the rifle over her shoulder. Her combat boots hit the cement with a substantial thud and she went in search of them.

She hesitated, however, when she heard the piercing sounds of sirens. The police were on their way. Ah better break up that fight. We don’t have time for this shit. The young woman pulled out her Beretta and jogged toward the direction she believed they were.

She observed them fighting, locked in a deadly struggle, and she aimed the Beretta at Raven. One, twice, three times she fired. All three found their target in Mystique. The bullets didn’t cause too much damage. Ah think we need special acid ammo to bring this bitch down. Something that’ll damage her cells so she can’t just warp around bullets. She wasn’t able to do this before the Hand got to her.

“Frank, we gotta get out of here. The cops are on their way.” She told him. The sirens got louder.

Frank looked at the woman on the street, her gunshot wounds closing at a rapid pace. “You need to learn to shut up.” He removed his sidearm from his holster and shot her in the head. The hole closed like the others and Raven smiled up at him. She jumped up on her feet and backed away, knife in hand. She heard the alarms also and wanted to get out of there.

“This isn’t finished,” He rumbled at her, Rogue looked anxious to be out of there. If he had the time, he would have cut Mystique up and cremated her.

“I know this isn’t finished. Especially since you have my daughter.” Raven said. “You’ve certainly become more interesting.” Rogue had changed, more muscle on her and had a serious gleam in her blue eyes. Blue? Rogue had green eyes, Raven knew that to be true. So why were they blue? And why was she with the Punisher? He’d always worked alone. Was he fucking her? Rogue DID have daddy issues. Oh wait, she can’t. 

“Ah ain’t your daughter. Ah don’t want to be your daughter. So fuck off.” Rogue muttered before spinning to follow Frank. It was then Rogue felt a sharp pain in her leg. She put a hand down there and it came away wet with blood. She searched for Raven then gave up. That blue rat probably slunk off to go fester in the sewers. “Fuck it. That’s what Ah get for presenting my back like a glorified target to her.”

She jumped in the van and told Frank what happened. “It’s my mistake for doing that, Ah didn’t want her to be under the presumption that Ah was afraid of that slutty Smurfette. But Ah don’t think the slash is too bad.” Bad enough, though, that she kept pressure on it. The upholstery is vinyl, so at least there shouldn’t be permanent blood stains.

“I’ll examine it when we get to the safe house. Other than the injury to your leg, you did well. Remember to never turn your back on your enemy. In the field, you might not end up so lucky. Most people end up dead.” Frank wasn’t normally one for compliments, but her shooting had been exceptional, and he tempered that with a solid warning. Rogue was nearly ready and it was time to contact Fury.

They pulled up on the docks, put the van in a garage, then went to a serviceable and plain boat. Large enough for the both of them and their guns, but not much more. This safe house also had the distinct advantage of being able to be moored somewhere else if the need arose. Seagulls screaming in the night as Rogue limped her way on board.

“Sit on the table.” He ordered. She kicked off her boots and dropped her pants, she figured this was no time for false modesty, and planted her posterior on the proffered surface. He scrutinized the wound, long but not deep. It did not cut into the femoral artery; otherwise Rogue would have been a goner. She needed about ten stitches and some rest but that was it.

She asked, “How is it, Doc?”

“You need stitches, but it doesn’t appear all that serious. Just take it easy for a few days. He retrieved a first aid kit from a cupboard and snapped on rubber gloves. He washed the wound out with saline, got the curved needle ready and put in the stitches.

She winced but refused to flinch. Frank did not keep anesthetic, even local anesthetic, in his medical kit, so she had to go without it. It stung and felt weird to have sterilized thread weaving in and out of her flesh. Ah deserve the discomfort, for one thing. For another, Ah don’t want to risk that needle going anywhere else. Frank was quick, practiced from having done this to himself. He put antibiotic on then the bandage. She slid off the table and went to clean up. He disinfected the table and put away the medical kit and disposed of the needle.

Rogue came back out with jeans and a tank top on.

“Mystique’s a problem. She’s on my radar now and I need everything you have on her.” Frank poured them a cup of coffee. They both liked it black and strong. He realized that it wasn’t going to be a comfortable conversation for her but the problem that Raven presented took precedence over her ease of mind.

“You’re right. She’s a nuisance, but Ah’m not sure what Ah can say to help. Ah know she was killed and resurrected by the Hand. It…changed her, super enhanced her abilities to be able to do what she did. Also made her meaner. She wasn’t the same person when she came back to me. She can conceal herself from people who have an excellent sense of smell and can turn her limbs to bladed weapons. She is resistant to telepathic intrusion. She’ll be damn hard to track. “She told Frank more personal things, things that should never have happened to her and Frank lowered his gaze so she couldn’t see his eyes. He had his jacket on and she hugged him. Hard. Then she disengaged before he could yell at her.

“That’s all Ah’m gonna say about Mystique, Frank. For real. Ah have no more information to share.” Rogue said. It’d been three hours since she’d started talking and she splashed more coffee in her cup. She gave him some as well when he asked. Neither one of them wanted to sleep.

“We’ll need to be cautious when we’re out. Fewer trips by ourselves. Maybe have a password for when we do have to separate.” Frank said. He’d have to really sit and think about what to do with Mystique. Anyone could be killed, given the proper tools. Sometimes that was ammo, sometimes that was ordnance. Problem was, she was going to require a high tech solution. And perhaps a specialized kind of gear. Maybe use a variation on a hollow point bullet? Have someone create a bullet full of a substance that ate DNA? He wondered how she would react to an acid.

Rogue wanted to talk, as if to get the taste of Raven out of her mouth and mind. “Did you know my eyes were originally brown? Then Ah accidentally touched someone and then they turned green. Now, they’re blue. Permanently, Ah believe.” She took a swig of her coffee, heat lingering in that dark nectar. “Ah feel like Ah’m getting harder. Ah’m me, but less tolerant of assholes and those who do wrong to others. It feels like Ah can see people with such clarity. Some people are good, some are not.” She wondered where she would end up in twenty years, who she would be.

Frank listened to her speech and pondered where it was going.

“You had me bring up an uncomfortable conversation, so now it’s my turn. You’ve been given a gift finding out about David. Ah ain’t gonna tell you to be all fatherly, but Ah know how important it is to have a father since Ah lack one. Ah just want you to know this one thing: Try to make peace with David. If not for your sake, then his because he is a decent man. That’s all Ah need to say.” Any more than that wouldn’t be her place.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Rogue. Go try and get some sleep. I’ll go on watch.” Frank said. In other words, I need to some thinking and I’d prefer to do it alone.

She rose up from the chair, shrugged, then went to her bunk, pulling the curtain shut for privacy. Maybe Ah can get some shut eye now. Maybe. The gentle lapping of the water lulled her first into drowsiness, then into a deep slumber.

I’ll think about settling with David—she’s right about that, the little meddler--but right now I have more important things to worry about. Like Mystique. And getting Rogue out of my hair, Frank thought with a pang he would never admit to. Is sending Rogue to Fury the best thing for her? He had qualms over that. He knew what Fury was like; a soldier with a thirst for battle. Nicholas Joseph Fury wouldn’t hesitate about sending Rogue into situations as dangerous—if not more—than the ones she already experienced with him. The pay’s better. More of a future for her if she makes it past her four years then re-ups.

A calm snore informed Frank that Rogue slept and he pulled out a prepaid cellphone. He dialed the number and was greeted by voicemail. “This is Fury. If you have this number, that must mean I like you. Or can tolerate you. Leave your name and I might think about calling you back.”

Frank cleared his throat, “FC. Need to talk to you about a few …”

Nick Fury picked up the phone. “Frank? How the hell can I help you, soldier?” Surprise hung in his voice, though he also sounded rather tired.

“Would you be willing to meet with me and someone else for lunch?” Frank told Nick about Rogue and the old man’s interest was palpable even through the phone.

“Trained by you? Hell yeah. Good soldiers are hard to come by and I’m creating a black ops group that she might be good for. How’s…” Fury looked at the clock. It said 5 am. “about noon today work for you?”

“Works fine. See you at Santino’s Deli. 15th and Cedar Street.” Frank hung up the phone and sat in the solitude.


	8. Chapter 8

The air in the armory was oppressive, ten fellow agents were finishing up with their preferred load out. David put his gear on, heavy Kevlar vest and helmet, straps on thighs. He shoved extra magazines for his handgun into special pockets, and grabbed shells for his tactical shotgun. He supposed he appeared very intimidating and he put on his best serious face, to sort of psych himself for the event. Glancing in a mirror, he could almost imagine the skull on his chest. He glowered, but lacked the ferocity of his father, so he quickly stopped before someone saw him acting like an idiot. I just don’t have it in me to be like him.

He was being pulled in on a bust in Manhattan, mostly because of his marksmanship. His size did not hurt matters. They got good intel—thank god for informants—on a huge cocaine delivery and needed to head out tonight. 

Of course, this was supposed to be the night that Cameron and Trent were going to call, excited for the Christmas Eve party they all would spend at his apartment. David instead called them and explained that tomorrow night worked better for him and that he needed to do something for the FBI.

His children were disappointed and that broke his heart. He told them ten times that he loved them and Morena took it off speakerphone to speak privately to him.

“I don’t like it when you go out on …. Errands like that. I need you alive to help support the children.” She whispered into the phone. Harshly, he might have added.

He had enough and his temper flared. David ran an unbelieving hand through his receding hair line. Another genetic gift from Frank Castle. “Don’t worry, Morena. If I bite a bullet tonight, the children will be taken care of. There’s even a benefit that will give them thirty thousand the day after I die. I have additional life insurance through work, though that will take some time to come to you. Believe me, it’ll be enough to feed and clothe you and our children. That is, if you and that no good husband of yours don’t blow through the money. But maybe I should send in paperwork to have Kevin administer it. I know he won’t fuck it up for his siblings.”

“David…” She tried to say but stuttered on his name. This was not characteristic of him. Truthfully, she’d gotten used to being able to walk all over him.

He kept on with what he wanted to say. He felt frustrated, he felt furious, he felt trapped. He hated being angry at Morena, but he was and needed to let her know that as politely as possible. “No. I’m tired of money always being brought up when you call. I’m tired of feeling like the generous child support I give you is not going toward our children, but that grown man child named Erik Lovell. So stop it, Morena, or I’ll go into great and lavish detail about how I really feel regarding your affair. And it’s going to hurt your feelings. I want to have a cordial relationship with you, but you’re making it rather hard.”

Go ahead and push me. I dare you, Morena. PUSH ME.

That stopped her cold. “We’ll call you tomorrow, David. I have to get the kids a snack to eat.”

And that was that. David felt a little embarrassed, but also satisfied at the same time.

“Agent Salvatore, you ready to head out?” A.D Martin asked. He was geared up too, but wouldn’t be involved in the assault. He’d be on the sidelines. He noted David seemed to be woolgathering. Odd, at a time like this. And unusual for David who was normally very focused on his work.

“Huh? Yes, yes I am. Sorry, sir, I was just a little nervous.” David said.

“Get your head in the here and now, or it’ll be blown off. Now follow the others to the van.” His supervisor ordered.

Last in the van, he had to help shut the heavy armored doors and took his place on the edge of the metal bench. Everyone kept quiet and to themselves. David hoped to be able to go home tonight, at least to the small pad he called home. He hoped the others went back to their families and off duty lives. The agent, Samantha LaCroix, who sat across from him had a boyfriend and three cats. Ramirez, the guy next to him, just had a baby with his wife. Cutest little girl named Maria Costanzia. He wasn’t familiar with the others, but knew they had stories of their own too.

The van squealed to a stop and the agents all filed out, a solemn group. The warehouse, forlorn, nonetheless had a commanding presence. David observed lots of vantage points for crack shots. He did not like the feel of the area, menacing and secretive.

“Demetrius and Barker. You guys go up and use the battering ram to get the door down. Salvatore and LaCroix, you go inside and cover us.” Martin began to deploy everyone to their assigned tasks. When everyone was ready, Martin got on his microphone and ordered them to open up, that they had a warrant to search for cocaine and other illicit substances. No answer, so Martin gave the order to ram the door down.

David stood away to the right and LaCroix took the left, providing Demetrius and Barker with plenty of room to batter at the door. Three tries and an entrance was made for them. David thought of his ex-wife and channeled that anger into aggression. “I’m Special Agent Salvatore with the FBI. Come out with your hands up! Put down any weapons and you will not be harmed.” He bellowed, his voice echoed like thunder through the warehouse.

A whizzing bullet gave him his answer. No. His sharp eyes spied the shooter, cowering behind wood boxes, and ran toward him. David was a hulking and determined federal agent with arrest on his mind. “Get your ass on the ground!” David ordered, caught up in a surge of adrenaline and he lunged at the shorter man. The shotgun clattered next to them on the ground. After tackling him, they wrestled and David slipped cuffs on him just in time to hear someone shoot at him.

He looked up to see another man, dark and brooding in bright red jeans and a Chicago Bulls jersey, take aim. David picked up and fired his shotgun, hitting the young man in the chest. He went down like a brick. Two more men, flunkies David assumed, rushed him and he cocked the shotgun with an unmistakable ‘shhhkth’ sound and sent one into an early grave. The other man dropped his Glock and kissed the ground.

“Good job, Salvatore.” LaCroix panted and gave him a grin. “You keep the shotgun on him, and I’ll secure him.” She zip tied him.

He thought otherwise. He did not like killing the two men and hoped they didn’t have young children that depended on them. A successful bust, to him, would have meant arrests and not body bags.

The other agents flooded the building and began to pry into the large boxes. They found tightly packed white bricks. Martin opened one and ascertained that it was cocaine. There were five crates of cocaine, estimated to be about ten tons. But was more concerning to all the Agents were the thirty or so containers of military grade weapons. Tactical shotguns, assault rifles, miniguns and about one hundred Berettas. The kind preferred by the Marines, David noted. And boxes and boxes of ammo, as well as flashbangs and grenades. 

“Someone seemed to be gearing up for war.” Martin told David. The Kingpin was going to get some of the bounty, but he and the others would have to be careful when filtering the cocaine and weaponry. Some agents, like David Salvatore, were quick and sensitive to evidence being liberated. “Good job, Salvatore.” Martin said, echoing the sentiments of Agent LaCroix.

This time, David spoke up. “No. Not a good job. People died. That’s not a job to be proud of.” He moved off to be by himself, but Angelo grabbed his arm.

“David, they were shooting at you. They wanted to kill YOU. You didn’t want to kill them, you were defending yourself and your fellow agents. You got to be like your hero, the Punisher, and send them to the grave.” Martin said, exasperated.

“He’s not my hero. I just acknowledge him as a man who was driven to extreme measures by his pain and the breakdown of justice. Frank Castle, I repeat, is not someone to emulate. Just someone to sympathize.” David grimaced, still upset about the men he killed. It bothered him to have blood on his hands, to know that he ended two lives. He wished he had thought of something different and that they had ended up alive, though in custody.

Martin scoffed. He couldn’t quite believe the son of the infamous Punisher would be so reluctant at killing people. As far as Martin was concerned, the killing apple did not fall far from the killing tree. “Just don’t forget to at least start your report before you head home tonight. It doesn’t have to be finished, but should have the pertinent details in it.

“Yeah, ok. I’ll do that.” He would, even though he was dead tired and just wanted to sip some whiskey and relax. He grew weary of thinking. His solace was of the family get together next week for Christmas and that was his only motivation for slogging through the day.


	9. Chapter 9

A tortured soul have I become

It keeps me safe and leaves me numb

'Cause in this dream I'm wide awake

The one I love I did forsake

I wish that I was wrong, that you'll come home again

All this time I've lost, I'll never find again

\--Seether, Save Today

“Get up, Rogue. We need to haul ass.” Frank rousted her out of her bunk with the loud clang of a cooking pan. He smiled as she gifted him with a dirty look. They had about an hour to get there, which was doable if traffic cooperated.

She grumbled and smoothed her clothing. “Ah ain’t going nowhere til Ah comb my hair.” And since her hair was short, it was easy to wrangle into some semblance of order. She splashed some water on her face to revive herself and it worked. Sort of. “How do Ah look? Ah mean, this is a job interview Ah’m going to, right?”

“I guess you could say that. “A twinge of something hit him in the stomach. He realized that it was guilt, perhaps caused by the fact an unidentified thought told him that he was throwing Rogue from the frying pan and directly into the fire. Guilt because he cared about her. It came to him before he woke her up that Rogue’s sunny optimism and general warmth reminded him of Maria, as well as her belief that deep down Frank was a good man. “I’ll warn you now that Fury should be respected but not trusted.” And, to be fair it wasn’t just Fury she should have a healthy skepticism for; that world should not trusted. “Don’t trust anyone. Mind your instincts. “

“Ah can handle crotchety old soldiers.” Rogue said loftily. They jumped in the battle van and travelled from the docks to where they would have lunch.

Frank snorted, an almost laugh. “I suppose you can at that. If you don’t feel comfortable with him, you can stay with me, Lori.” He drove at a good clip down the streets of Queens.

“Lori?” She arched an eyebrow at that moniker, “Ah like that name. And you mean it? Ah can remain with you if Ah don’t like Fury? Ah thought you were trying to get rid of me?”

Frank told her the truth. “I think you deserve better, but since I have the feeling you’d argue with your fellow mutants about the many benefits of killing enemies, he’s the best alternative. Yes, you can come back with me if that’s what you want. If you do decide to enlist with Fury, and you can get leave, you’ll have a place to come home to.”

Rogue stared at him as if he were an alien, her brow narrowed and she became suspicious. “What’s with you?” After insinuating that she was an inconvenience, he was saying that it would be possible for her to continue on or visit? And the name, Lori? She liked it, but wondered what was up. Could it be possible on some level he’s genuinely worried about me? As much as he can be, anyway? Ah need to follow the advice Ah gave David. Ah need to be careful with Frank—Ah don’t want to hurt him.

“I’ll miss your cooking and your shooting. Both of which you don’t fuck up, Lori.” He replied dryly. I’m getting used to having someone around again. Having her around is like warming my hands at a fire, a welcome change of pace from being cold. There’s another reason I wouldn’t mind her refusing. I don’t think I could stand to see Lori used up like Kathryn. He had begun to think of her as Lori, mostly because Rogue seemed more of a code name. Lori was more grown up, a better name for her. He knew she hated the name Lorelai.

“Now that sounds more like the Frank Castle Ah’ve come to know and love.” She grinned and watched as they pulled up to a humble deli. The small building was very fifties looking with red and chrome accents. The place seemed like somewhere that Frank would eat at. Very old-fashioned. It said Santino’s Deli and she noted a black SUV pulled up behind them and parked to the right.

“That would be him. Let’s get out and introduce ourselves.”

 

Nick Fury appeared to be an older gentleman, Rogue discerned, who had a penchant for wearing a trench coat, under which it seemed he wore civilian attire. He chomped on a cigar and his eyepatch bequeathed a certain roguish air. He, too, had a white streak in his auburn hair. Well, on both sides unlike her. He reminded her, in a way, of the famous General George Patton.

The other man sized Rogue up and down. “You’re a hot little number, aren’t you?” He opened the door for her and gave her a spicy grin. He liked women, liked them a lot along with generous dollops of whiskey.

She returned the smirk with one of her own. “You can’t handle me, old man. Ah’m a high octane thrill ride.” Rogue knew that Fury wasn’t being serious; he was testing her. Then Rogue went through the door he opened and picked out a booth away from the other patrons.

Fury gave a hearty laugh. “I like her, Frank. The girl’s got spirit and fire. Know if she’s got grit as well?”

Frank nodded in the affirmative. “She does. She’s smart and resourceful. She’ll work hard for you. But don’t ever lie to her—she’ll get pissed when she finds out. She’s not nice when she’s pissed. And if you hurt her, I’ll personally tear you apart limb from limb.”

They had hesitated at the door. Nick Fury searched Frank’s face and found him to be deadly serious. “I got it, Castle.” He found it interesting that Frank was protective over her and filed that information away for use at a later date.

The two men joined Rogue at the table and Nick started the conversation. “Ok, first thing: If you decide to join the team, we’re going to have to get your problem under control. I won’t send anyone into the field if there’s a risk to the medic. Fortunately for you, I have a solution. “He held up a small ring. “This will enable you to control your power. You can choose either this or an implantable chip. We’ll work on controlling it without any technology in the near future.”

“Could you make it flesh colored so it blends in?” Rogue asked, thrilled she might have a good solution to be able to control her ability.

“That’s feasible. As far as joining the team goes, you will get paid a generous amount each month. Room and board will be provided to you on base. Medical care will also be provided. After two months of MY boot camp, you will be able to go on weekend leave. When on leave, you will be on call.” He paused. “However, I am putting a tremendous amount of resources into all the team members and I’m requiring a six-year contract. Re-ups will then occur every two years after successful completion of the original contract.”

The waitress came back, winked at Frank and gave the three of them laminated menus. “Can I get you fine gentlemen—and lady—anything to drink?” She was an older woman, maybe around sixty and must have thought flirting with Frank would get her a better tip.

Rogue ordered a diet coke while the ‘crotchety’ old soldiers requested coffee. She looked at the menu and decided a salami sandwich with fries sounded great. She’d work out later to burn off the calories.

“That sounds fair. Do Ah have to make a choice today or can Ah think about it?” Rogue, tempted by the notion of being able to touch people, needed time to mull it over. Ah don’t want to make any hasty decisions.

Fury thought that was sensible of her. “You have three weeks from today. Meet me here at 12.” 

Fury and Rogue talked of other things while eating lunch. Rogue pried a war story out of him, one of the ones that could be talked about in public. It had been a hairy situation involving the Nazis, an improvised sticky bomb and a French dame, but the story gave Rogue insight on Fury. Frank’s right. Don’t be taken in by his crusty charm.

Rogue excused herself to freshen up in what she called the powder room.

“I like her, Frank. And I see why you do too.” Fury repeated. “She’s a good person with a sensible head on her shoulders. Has good morals.”

Frank muttered, loud enough for Fury to hear, “I thought you preferred soldiers with moral ambiguity.”

“I’ll have enough moral ambiguity for the whole team. No, I need people that I’m sure will do the right thing. I’d ask you to join, but I know how you feel about fighting for a CO.” Fury told him. He examined Frank with his good eye. “You’re getting old, Marine.”

“I know.” Was all Frank said. In two months, he’d be sixty-nine. His body ached at night. He kept in great shape, but he had also put himself through hard use. He knew age crept in like an unwanted intruder, could feel his reflexes slowing and something akin to regret sink in, a primitive kind of regret that did not seem to disturb him much on the outside. He knew full well he made a mess of his life, took the ruins of his shattered past and turned it into a frozen wasteland. 

David had showed him what life should have been like and Rogue emphasized it. Warmth. A family. People to come home…no…people who were his home. He thought of Sarah, five years old now, and knew she was happy and loved.

“I can help you with that, “Fury offered. “I’ll give you a new version of the Infinity formula.”

 

“What’s the catch?” Frank, vaguely interested, felt as if he had to at least ask. But he thought of Mystique and how that might help him and his interest rose.

“It hasn’t been tested on a human subject, it works on rats and mice, but I need a human. I’d do it myself but I’m not sure how it’ll react with the stuff already in my veins. And I want it tested before the Department of Defense catches wind of it. If they do, then they’ll take the formula--or try to--and use it on one of their muscle bound idiots.” Fury continued. “Anyway, one shot is good for 70 years. You’ll have an 85 percent chance of being restored to your prime. For every ten years, you’ll age one.”

Now that perked him up. That was very, very tempting. “I’m still wondering about the catch.”

“You’ll probably out live everyone you care about. From your threat of personal bodily harm, I know you care about the woman. Would you want to outlive her?”

“She’s not my lover. I don’t have to worry about outliving her.” Frank said. “I took her in when she had no one, kept a roof over her head for almost four months. That’s all. She’s just some unwanted waif.” Liar. You care for her in your way.

Fury said nothing but handed the syringe of purple fluid over to him. “Take it home and consider it.”

Frank put it in his pocket as Rogue came out with a smile that lit up the diner. “Ah’m sorry that Ah took so long.” There was a weird vibe in the air that she did not understand when she studied the two men, but discretion was the better part of valor in this instance and she kept her mouth shut.

“Keep my offer in mind, Rogue.” Fury said, as he rose from the table. He tossed the waitress a fifty and told her to keep the change. “Take all three weeks to decide. It’s not going to be easy, and I’ll expect great things from you.” Then he left the diner without so much as a goodbye, but he was not that kind of person. Rogue watched as he entered the SUV and drove off. She supposed he was a busy person.

Rogue said with some exasperation, “No pressure at all. “She plunked down and finished her pop. “Do you think he’s being honest with me?”

Frank, silent for a moment, nodded. “In this instance, he is.”

She wondered how she was going to bring this up. It had been in her mind for some time after David showed up. Rogue needed to put her past behind and she thought of her father’s family in Mississippi. She had known where they lived for about a month now, digging around on the library’s internet. 

Out of curiosity, she looked up her father according to his name and birthdate. She found his criminal record. Nothing major, just petty stuff that would not warrant a visit from Frank. But not a great guy. His name was Robert Arsenault, a petty thief and all around scoundrel, lived near the Louisiana border in his family’s antebellum estate, the Belle Coeur. He died three months before Ah was born. Ah’d like to believe that he’d have done right by mama, but Ah found out that he had several other illegitimate children. Plus, the five he had with his wife Liliana Arsenault.

“Frank, Ah was thinking that Ah’d take a week off and go down south. Ah still have family down there, my mama’s parents live in Mississippi and my real father’s folk live on the border. Then, there’s mama’s grave. Ah’d like to put flowers on it and give her my love.” Rogue sighed. She didn’t want to go, but felt she needed to. “Ah was thinking about leaving today, so Ah can make sure Ah have enough time to settle shit down there and wrap things up here.”

Frank asked, “Do you want some help getting down there?” This would be difficult for her but also essential to making peace. Frank found it interesting that Rogue was taking her own advice.

“Yeah, Ah do. Thought about taking the bus, but Ah’d be dependent on others to get me around. Ah’d waste time with that. Ah wondered if you could help me get a bike?” She hated asking him for anything and she’d need money too.

“I know someone who can help with that. Let’s talk more in the van.” 

In the van, he handed her five thousand and a card. “Check it tomorrow. You should have enough money to do what you want.” He started the van and made the short drive to a ‘friend’ who sold motorcycles. He would be discreet.

“Thanks.” She whispered, stunned by the bounty handed to her. Money meant nothing to Castle, Rogue estimated he had millions stashed away, taken from the people he killed. She stuffed it in her wallet.

The van stopped at a humble garage and Frank turned to her. “Did David give you a phone number or any way to reach him?”

“He sure did, wanted me to call him bad enough to give me his personal cell number. Ah’m sure he won’t mind if Ah give it to you.” She reached back into her wallet and fetched the card. She handed it to him and he put it away. She hoped Frank reached out to him. Maybe he just doesn’t want me around while he’s busy with David. Ah can respect that. He needs his space. Ah do too.

“Hey Frank! What brings you here?” A grimy grease monkey with no teeth greeted him at the driver’s side window. Grizzled gray hair went everywhere. Rogue could not tell where beard ended and the rest of his hair began. He had a baseball cap emblazoned with USMC 1st Battalion 1st Marines First of the First. He wore a POW MIA t-shirt with jeans and seemed ancient enough to be a Vietnam Vet. He saw Rogue and gave her a friendly grin as well. 

“I met him during my second tour of ‘Nam. You’d like him. He’s pretty cantankerous.” He told Rogue. “Walt, this is Rogue. A friend of mine who wants to pick out a bike. I’ll be buying. She’s taking a trip and could use the wheels.”

He glanced over at the young woman. “She looks like she could handle good steel, whether it be a M-60 or a bike. Yeah, let her go pick one out and we’ll talk about payment, Frankie.” Walt talked Frank’s ear off while Frank patiently let him. Semper Fi, Frank thought.

Rogue left the van and peered over his hefty selection of bikes. Mostly Harleys but a few Indians were tossed in for good measure. It seemed he did not deal with Japanese bikes. All were beautiful and taken care of, but she was pulled to a lovely green Harley with saddle bags. She looked everything over carefully. No leaks. No scratches. She loved it.

“That would be a great bike for you, Rogue. Built for someone your size. Powerful. Agile. Will last forever if you take care of it.” Walt said and handed her the keys. 

Rogue grinned at Walt. “Mind if Ah test it first before committing?” 

“Oh sure, feel free.” Walt smiled and she carefully put one leg over the bike. Turning it on, the engine roared as it was supposed to do. She demonstrated her skill by properly driving it around the parking lot. “She knows how to drive. That’s good. So many people don’t and end up destroying the bike.”

“Rogue’s full of surprises. How much you want for it?” Frank asked.

“Twelve thousand. Don’t worry it’s a profit for me, still, but I won’t ask for more. A Marine does right by his brothers.” Walt crossed his arms. Rogue appreciated the bike and was thrilled by it and that thrilled Walt in return.

Twelve thousand is a hell of a steal for a bike like that, Frank thought, but chose not to offend Walt by insisting to pay more. A Marine does right by his brothers, after all. And wayward waifs, too.

Rogue thanked him emphatically after she drove back up to them. “Frank, this is the best bike ever. So smooth, so sweet.”

Frank smiled, glad she appreciated the gift. She could be as free as she wanted to be now, a thought that made him have mixed feelings. “Were you going to head out tonight? What about your clothes?”

Rogue considered for a moment. She needed hit the road, but knew she’d be back. Like a bad coin, she’d always turn up. Besides, Frank wasn’t going to ditch her that easy. She planned on being there for him as long as possible, until the bitter end. “Ah’ll just buy what Ah need on the road. All my clothes are military and it’s best if Ah meet these people wearing normal clothes.”

Her reasoning made sense to him. He passed her a spare key to the boat. “You know the number to call if trouble finds you?” He seemed made of stone, unreadable and distant. Rogue took that to mean he was hiding his feelings.

“Ah do and Ah will, promise. Ah’m going to miss you, Frank.”

He grunted. “I’m going to miss your lasagna and the way you’re a pain in my ass.”

A laugh escaped Rogue. She cared about him. Maybe even loved him. “Ah really care about you, Frank. Please be safe, please.”

“Why?” He asked, curious. “I’m not a nice man.”

She gathered up her thoughts. “Frank, being nice is not necessarily a good quality. People should save ‘nice’ for family members and other loved ones. Being polite is how people should treat those not in their social or family circles. As for why? Because Ah KNOW you. Ah’ve been in your head and Ah saw goodness in you. You’re grumpy as hell, but you are a good man.”

He leaned forward and whispered, “I’ll miss you, Lori. Go and take care of your issues. I’ll take care of some of mine.”

She revved her Harley, waved at Frank, then guided her bike out of the parking lot and disappeared from his view.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guest appearance!

Frank stayed and let Walt talk some more after Rogue drove off. Walt seemed to be lonely, so he gave him some company for an hour. He left Walt after arranging payment for the bike. The next day, he went to the bank and shifted funds to the account that now belonged to Rogue. 

“Transfer twenty-five thousand to this account.” He gave the teller some bank account numbers, and the dour woman performed the transactions. Frank hated the staid atmosphere of financial institutions, of strait laced assholes and money hungry executives. The clientele today consisted of harried housewives and elderly people. Everyone else must be at work. The total in the bank statement now read $100,453, which should be plenty for Rogue.

“Can I help you with anything else, sir?” The woman asked, her Brooklyn twang very evident and very annoying to him. She stared at him like he was a repugnant bug, to be squashed at the earliest opportunity.

He thought of the security box and of the long buried gift he had in there. A gift he wanted to give Maria after they got home from the picnic and one he could not part with then, so he shoved it in the bank. “I’d like to close out security box 4532. I’m not going to need it anymore.”

She asked to see proof that he rented the box and he produced the key. “Fill out this form and I’ll get the box for you.” He somehow got the impression that she did not approve of him. In return, he did not give a flying fuck. Frank filled out the form before she came back with the small metal box. He opened it with the key and retrieved the jewelry box. In the box, lay a locket with pictures of the family. Inscribed on the back were the words: Love Always, Frank. His intention was to give it to David.

He once loved Maria fiercely. Loved Lisa and Frank Junior just as fiercely. He remembered that family life and a secret, almost dead part of him longed for it, especially now. His recurring dream of familial contentment attested to this. His coping mechanism had always been to repress their memory, to push their deaths—or supposed deaths—from his mind. I can’t do that now. To deal with David, I have to finally examine their loss. It hurts now. I have to open those wounds and I have to come to grips with it, for David’s sake. So that I can be someone to him. He brought Rogue to mind and that helped to lessen the pain. Her smile, her beautiful smile.

He took the box, thanked the sour teller and went back to his vehicle. He inspected the locket, just as perfect as the day he bought it. A callused thumb ran over the slick silver metal. His hands opened the locket and stared at a picture of the both of them. He was kissing her cheek when the picture was taken. Her face was radiant. The other picture was of Lisa ruffling Junior’s hair. A mischievous glint was in her eyes. Maria, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I failed you and Lisa but Junior’s alive. I thought you should know that. He clicked the locket shut and tucked it in his jacket.

He pulled out the card that David scribbled his number on and dialed it on his cellphone. 

“Hello, this is David Salvatore. May I help you?” The voice, wary, was courteous enough. 

Most law enforcement officers have their numbers unlisted—for good reason. Frank supposed to himself. “This is Frank. We should meet somewhere to talk. Maybe at the Bow Bridge in Central Park?” The location was chosen for a purpose.

Stunned silence followed for a long moment. David hoped for, but did not expect, this meeting. He had so much to ask. Bless Rogue’s heart. “I would…really like to. Today works for me. I can be there in an hour.” He also knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“That’s fine by me. I’ll talk to you, then.” He hung up, not one for drawn out goodbyes.

Frank Castle waited at the iconic Bow Bridge for less than five minutes when David came up to him. He smiled and tried to embrace Frank, but the older man dodged him. Frank knew he still was having difficulties into accepting that David was his son. “I asked you here to talk. I’m going to talk and you’ll listen. It won’t be easy. I sure as hell wouldn’t be having this conversation if you were anyone else. I also will never bring up this topic again, so pay attention carefully.” The harshness in his voice came from the memories dredged up.

The father and son began to walk on the bridge and toward the path that led eventually to the grassy knoll. Frank began, “Two months before the Central Park …incident, your mother had a miscarriage. It was a tough time for us; our marriage struggled. We fought. I hated to see the light dim in her eyes. She grew depressed, listless and I didn’t know what to do. I was sure that nothing I said would help her. What could I do? Tell her to suck it up, Marine? That’s not something a wife wants to hear, let me assure you. So, as soon as the weather warmed up, I brought up the picnic idea. For the first time, I saw a spark of life in her eyes. Your eyes are like hers, by the way. China blue, I called them.”

He paused as a group of college age girls passed them. They paid the men no attention, deeming them rightfully too old. “Anyway, she lit up and I felt like I was helping her. It made me feel like a good husband. So the next day, we packed a lunch and came up here.” He led David off the path and up a grassy knoll. “I remember her gold hair waving in the breeze. Her eyes reflected the sky and I loved her in that moment. That one instant in time was perfection.”

He stopped when they reached the top of the gentle hill. “This is where it happened. This is where our family died, David.” Frank said quietly. “Maria got shot there and Lisa…Lisa died there. I tried to stop her from dying, but her guts and blood came pouring out of her. I remember trying to push her intestines back in, but there was nothing to push them back into. A bullet entered my chest, then another one.” The expression in his eyes was blank yet held so much pain. It would haunt David for many years to come. “I saw plenty of gory wounds in ‘Nam, but I wasn’t supposed to see my little girl or wife like that. This was America, not a warzone.”

Frank took a deep breath; he hadn’t talked so much in ages. “After Lisa died, I remember the world turning fuzzy. Then I held a boy in my arms, thought he was you, with his brains in my hand. I blanked out after that. The paramedics had to sedate and restrain me to get us to the hospital.”

Frank had more to tell David. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t insisted on a visit to the park, if I had taken my gun…I only wanted my wife to be herself again.” Frank shook his head. David tried to tell him that their deaths were not his burden, but Frank refused to listen.

“Would it have made a difference in your life if you had me?” David asked, almost choked up by the torment roiling under the surface of his father. He’s experienced too much trauma. I’m surprised he’s as stable as he is. Most men were not able to take this much pain. He’s damaged but not crazy. He doesn’t have lack of impulse control. I doubt he’s a sociopath. He’s unique.

“Yes. I’d have chosen to be your father, not the Punisher.” Came Frank’s ready reply. “I would have done everything in my power to get you back, if I had known. I loved you, Junior.”

“No one is stopping you from trying to forge a new relationship with me. It won’t be the same, but you’re a part of my family.” David had to offer. “Why don’t you come over on Christmas Eve and meet my children? Kevin would be right up your alley.”

Frank gave a weary halfhearted shrug. “You’ve a good heart, David, like your mother. She was kind and lovely; also a devout Catholic.” I’m not ready to meet my grandchildren. I can only handle so many potential targets at once. “That’s not a good idea right now.” 

David sat down at a nearby bench, joined by Frank. “I understand, Dad. Mind if I call you that?”

Frank shrugged again. “You can call me that if you want. Don’t know why a father with young kids such as yourself would want to make themselves a bull's eye.” 

“I’m already a bull’s eye being a special agent. What’s with you and Rogue?” David was curious as to their relationship dynamic. He seemed somehow nicer to Rogue than him. In a way he was envious. He also wondered why Frank wanted to keep them apart.

“None of your concern.” Frank grumbled at David. He glanced over at David. He picked up a whiff of envy. “You jealous of her? You shouldn’t be. She’s caught in the same web that made me.”

David composed his thoughts for a moment. “I just feel as if you’re being slightly antagonistic toward me. I can’t figure out if you’re trying to push me away or you’re as belligerent as hell.” He knew he should have managed his expectations regarding Frank, but David really wanted to be his son again. Craved it.

“Both.” Frank said, honestly. “Junior, I’m not going to talk about Maria or Lisa again, ever, but I will give you this.” He withdrew the jewelry box from the folds of his coat and put it in David’s hand. “Everything you need to know about your mother and sister are in that locket. I don’t want it, but thought you would.”

Frank shifted as if to stand up, but David said, “Dad. I killed two men while on the job yesterday. They were coming toward me and I shot them. I didn’t think twice, just pulled the trigger. I feel disgusted with myself.”

“Have you killed anyone before? Did you find satisfaction in it?” Frank asked.

“No and no. I hated it and I hope that I’ll never have to do it again. What if I have to? What if I have to protect myself or another person?” David queried, and anticipated some form of answer from Frank Castle.

“Then I’d tell you that perhaps you need to find a line of work better suited for your temperament. Leave before you get yourself or someone else killed.” Frank formulated the notion—correctly, so—that David possessed a fairly sensitive nature. He gets that from me, I think. Before life took a contract out and whacked it. He remembered how his own father called him a sissy for liking poetry, and how his mother defended him. 

Frank continued, while David studied the pebbled ground at his feet. “Maybe social work, do what you can to save a few people.”

“I can’t quit my job. It’s the only way I can make my child support payments. Thank God I don’t have to make alimony payments.” David considered Frank’s suggestion about social work and it intrigued his interest. But social workers made squat, compared to FBI agents.

“What happened?” Frank asked, as pigeons flew by, dark wings against a blue sky.

“She cheated on me, I divorced her—I know, something good Catholics should not do—and now she’s married to the man who helped her cheat on me.” He replied. “She’s having trouble with him. I’ve tried pouring through the FBI databases, but there’s not a criminal record on him. “Didn’t mean he was an innocent person. Just that he did not get caught. Yet. “If you hear anything on an Erik Lovell, let me know.”

“I don’t blame you.” David did not throw his marriage away; his ex-wife did. “People shouldn’t have to live with an unfaithful spouse.” Frank stood up and David echoed him. Unsure of what to do next, Frank put his hand on David’s left shoulder and squeezed. “Take care, kid. I need to make other social calls.” He turned and eventually disappeared into the park.

David just watched the pigeons coo and flutter, ornamental featherheads in a sterilized version of Central Park.

Frank Castle decided he wanted a drink, a cold beer after the meeting with David. Normally, he did not indulge, but he had another purpose. Altar Boy needed to be warned of the blue sociopath. The neon sign Josie’s Bar gleamed ahead and he managed to slide into a parking spot before some obnoxious patron took it. New York City glittered, cold and icy. His breath steamed in the air like a ghost before he went inside the old bar.

The crowd, rough and raucous, seemed decent enough for all that. The décor was plain and there was no pretentious airs put on here. For a tavern, it was alright. He claimed an empty barstool and ordered a good German beer, the kind his father liked. Frank, his father had said, go German if you want beer. Italian for wine. Josie, or a large no nonsense woman he assumed was Josie, eyeballed him up and down but gave him his beer. A basketball game was playing on TV.

“What brings you here, Castle?” An exasperated voice asked, a pleasant tenor. Matt Murdock sat next to him. It was clear, even to a blind man, that the vigilante had a message for him. Maybe even a warning. Matt was a handsome man, in his forties, well kempt and groomed. Looked professional. Unless he had a bruise on his face, which Matt explained away with clumsiness due to being blind.

Matt thought about Frank. Their relationship was rocky at best. Neither friends or foes, occasionally shaky allies. 

Frank sipped at his beer. “Just got thirsty, Red. Congratulations on becoming a prosecutor. You’ll do good. You’re most suited to putting the screws to the bad guys than being a starving public defender. Pays better too, I’d imagine.” There was a part of Frank that loved to make Matt Murdock squirm.

“Did you take down the Red Branch?” Now a hint of suspicion crept into Matt’s voice.

“I did. They offended my sensibilities with their heroin racket. Stopped it before they expanded.” Frank finished his beer and turned to watch Matt, who appeared a little angry. For some reason, Matt did not like bad people getting killed.

“What about the attack on the Wreckers a few nights before?” Matt furrowed his brow. “Detectives said it was clumsily done, not your usual style at all.” Matt was here alone. He’d been alone for some time, driven off the last of his friends four years ago. 

Frank shook his head. “C’mon, altar boy, you know me. I’m more professional than that crap job.” He got to his feet. “I have something to tell you, but I need some fresh air.” He tossed a twenty on the bar and Josie swooped it up. “Keep the change.”

They went out to the back alley and Matt wondered if Frank was up to no good. He anticipated a punch or a kick to the balls. “Matt, there’s another player in Hell’s Kitchen. She’s trouble and not the fun kind of trouble that you really want to run into.” He relayed the information given to him by Rogue and watched as Matt turned from incredulous to believing. Take the bait, Matt, take the bait. If he could get Daredevil to rile the hell out of Mystique, it might make flushing her—and killing her--out easier.

“Why are you telling me this? We’re not friends.” Matt leaned against the wall, skeptical again. Frank never lied to him, but occasionally had a hidden agenda not quite apparent at first. Matt learned to have a healthy respect for the brain between Frank’s ears.

“I don’t want you to be unpleasantly surprised. Mystique’s bad news. Raised from the dead by the Hand, or so my very reliable informant tells me. The more people like us are aware of the potential of her being around, the less likely one of us is going to bite it.” Frank told him. “And the better chance we have of putting an end to her.”

“I’m not going to help you kill, Frank.” Matt warned.

“Tell me that again after you meet her.” Frank replied.

Matt’s eyebrow raised over his red glasses. “That bad?”

“Yeah, that bad.” And she’s hurt someone I care about. So yeah, Irish, she deserves to be killed. “I’m going quiet for a few months, so any activity in the meantime will not be due to me. Use that data to track her patterns. I’ll be here every Friday around eight to share information about her. Taking her down is going to have to be a concentrated and coordinated effort.”

Frank? Going quiet? For a few months? It was then Matt began to treat this with the seriousness Frank wanted him to. “Yeah, I’ll do some research on her and see if I can use my senses to help track her down. “

“Good.” Then Frank left and Matt went back inside to grab another drink and dissect what Frank told him. IF this woman was as dangerous as Frank said, it would take a team up to bring her to justice. All I need to do is prevent Frank from killing her. “Easier said than done.” He said to no one.


	11. Chapter 11

Mystique did as Kingpin requested and recruited as many thirteen-year-old boys as she could. Not in her real form, but a normal appearance. Pretty, but not distinguishable. No birthmarks or any unusual feature of note. She preferred, if one of them turned rat, for the police to not have an accurate description of her appearance. 

She targeted those young boys that seemed unsupervised and unwanted, mostly those from low income households. That made it easier to manipulate them with promises of fast money and the feeling of being ‘bad-ass’. Boys who had an axe to grind against society. She specifically searched for those with antisocial tendencies, she could sniff those out a mile away. She believed that if she taught them right, the Kingpin could have an army of teenage killers.

She taught them gun care and how to shoot. She paired them up with an older mentor to teach them how to work the streets, glean information, and how to run illicit items past the police. When word got out that she paid well, more urchins—girls as well as boys—and she ‘educated them as well. Raven knew there was an advantage to being a female—less suspicion from the police and other adults. She employed the girls as decoys, usually to distract the authorities from what felony the boys were perpetrating.

“Why children?” She asked Wilson Fisk while they were in bed, sheets draped around them. She thought she already knew the answer, but wanted confirmation of his thoughts as well.

“For one thing, the sentences they’ll get, if caught, will be lighter. Then there’s the vigilantes like Daredevil and Punisher. Neither one will kill a kid. One of the kids, however, may want to make a name for himself and off one of them. They may succeed where adults fail.” Wilson kissed her, a delicate gesture for a man of his powerful and intimidating stature.

She kissed him back and time disappeared.

After they were done, Wilson spoke up again. “I’m not sure I like you going out and antagonizing the Punisher. He’s dangerous and should be handled like a venomous animal.”

“I don’t fear death, and even if Frank Castle does kill me, the Hand has enough of my DNA to resurrect me. You will have me again.” The Hand could not normally resurrect someone from a vial of blood, but since her DNA, her mutation was so aggressive, it had been discovered that they didn’t need the whole body to bring her back. Raven rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. A shower sounded nice. She peeked from around the door and asked him if he’d like to join her.

Wilson Fisk grinned and strode after the blue skinned woman. “Of course I would like to join you, my dear.” 

 

# # #

Rogue sped out of New York and through New Jersey on her new bike. Freedom to do what Ah want! She liked the sound of that, but knew she needed an objective in her life. People need a task, a job to do with their life or they’ll go nuts.

She made a stop in D.C to check out the scenery, mostly because she had never been to the nation’s capital. She grimaced at the bits of litter in the reflecting pool between the Washington Monument and the stately Lincoln Memorial. That’s pretty much symbolic of how people treat our country. Like trash. Lori was not particularly patriotic, but she knew that she had it good here compared to other countries.

Rogue, well dressed for the cool weather, walked around and admired the architecture of the beautiful buildings, of the graceful solitude of the Jefferson Memorial to the solemnity of the structure dedicated to Lincoln. She stared up at the carved statue of Lincoln with respect. There were crowds of people, of course, but she paid them no mind. She would not be here much longer.

After she had her fill of the Lincoln Memorial, she made the short walk to the Vietnam Memorial. She crossed the street with a spring in her step. The black wall with the names of so many fallen soldiers filled her heart with a heavy kind of sorrow. She walked slowly down the path, taking in the names and hoped they had families that missed them. With a start, she realized that some of them no longer had families amongst the living. Well, if there is an afterlife, Ah hope they’re together. The more she walked alongside the wall, the sobering testament to what these men went through in a hostile country, the deeper and more profound her sadness for them ran.

Is this a life Ah want to lead? That of a soldier? Ah do. Ah need to take the fight to those who would harm others. Ah need to fight for those who can’t fight. She touched the engraved name of a soldier, a PFC DAVID LOUIS CASTILLO, and said a kind word under her breath for him. The visit to the wall made her more determined in her cause.

Despite the temptation to wander off from the oppressive sadness of the wall, Lori managed to make it to the end. She said, “Rest well.” Sobered and clear of mind, she went back to where she parked her bike. She drove out of the complicated mess that was Washington D.C and did not stop until she reached the border of Virginia, near the city of Abington.

Rogue managed to find a hotel that would allow her to pay with cash, and hauled her belongings to her room. The clerk was glad—in more ways than one—to see her and told her if she needed anything, to hit the number 3 on the phone and he’d get her whatever she desired. She held back the impulse to roll her eyes, but only inquired about local takeout and delivery places. He eagerly gave her a short list of places to call. She thanked him and immediately went to her lodgings. Tired and sore from riding most of the day, all she needed was food, rest and a hot shower. 

Warm, old, but clean were her first impressions upon entering the room with very dated décor. The bed was very comfortable and She ordered Chinese delivery, also purchased with cash, then zoned out on TV while munching on vegetable low mein. Gonna ask the clerk, she shuddered about having to approach the slack jawed yokel, where the nearest ATM is. Ah may need some more money.

She cracked open her fortune cookie and read the message: True love will set you free. She snickered at that. All these fortune cookies are so generic and ridiculous. But delicious! She ate the crunchy cookie with relish.

Rogue packed her saddle bags very early the next morning, around five, refreshed and wanting rev down the highway with the breeze in her hair. She noted the humble hotel had an ATM so she went over and pulled up her balance. Her jaw dropped when she saw the amount. She realized that this was another choice he offered her; a gentler way out. She loved him for that, rather than be offended. She withdrew her limit of $800, more than enough for her needs and to pad her wallet.

The last item on her to do list was returning the room key, which wasn’t a key at all but a card. Sure, make the key even easier to lose. Rogue thought with a flair of sarcasm. She dropped it off at the desk, this time staffed by a female clerk, and then was liberated.

She stopped three hours later to have some brunch, a simple fare of biscuits, sausage and gravy. She knew she could technically make it to her former home town in Mississippi if she drove like hell. Which she did.

# # #

She stopped and rented a room for three nights at a nicer hotel than the one in Virginia. On a whim, Rogue decided to visit her mother’s grave that evening. A short jaunt took her to Saint Mary of the Springs cemetery. She searched for an hour to find it, but she did locate her long dead mother. The plain grave was underneath a willow tree. The simple granite headstone read: Charlene Williams, Once a Mother now an Angel. 

Ah’m glad that someone cared enough to give you a memorial stone. The cemetery, quiet, filled Rogue with a tranquility now that she could finally say her goodbyes. She did so with whispers of forgiveness. “Ah forgive you for doin’ that. Ah sorry that you felt that you were forced to shoot Curtis. Ah know there was another way and Ah regret you couldn’t find it.” She sunk down next to the grave and rested near what was left of her mother.

She lowered her head and thought about the good memories of her mother, of warm hugs and chocolate chip cookies. The bedtime stories Charlene would read to her of charming knights and damsels that needed rescuing. Ah don’t need saving, momma. Ah can save myself and others, now. Ah am the hero in those stories you read to me. Ah miss you and you will always have a place in my heart. 

The young woman left her mother’s grave and went back to catch some shut eye. It had been a long day and it seemed tomorrow would be full as well. Tomorrow she would meet her mother’s parents and she was sure that they’d have a lot to catch up on.

# #

George and Genevieve DuBois were greeted by an earnest young woman at their door about noon the next day. To the average person, they seemed like normal people with a normal life. Well cared for lawn and maintained house spoke of that normalcy. It was clear they were not rich, but they did have pride in who they were. The neighborhood was quiet and restrained from the mild Mississippi heat. Her bike waited for her on the street, just begging for a ride.

Rogue cleared her throat. The DuBois’s were her maternal grandparents and she was excited to meet them at long last. The words crafted in her mind fled, and she croaked out, “Ah’m Charlene’s little girl. Your granddaughter. Ah was hopin’ we could have a little visit and get to know each other a bit.” The hope radiated through her blue eyes and her smile—the one Frank liked—matched that warmth.

Genevieve told George that she’d handle the situation, and he toddled off to the living room to watch TV. “Lorelai, please don’t take this the wrong way, but we are not interested in being your grandparents. We kicked your mother out for her immoral behavior with the rat that was your real father and we will not have you in our lives.” Though Genevieve would not outright say it, Lorelai was a bastard and should not exist, according to their strict religious beliefs.

Rogue caught a glance on a nearby wall. She couldn’t help but notice the DuBois’s had other children. Two sons at least, and a handful of grandchildren. She supposed they did not need her. No one needs me... Lorelai stayed calm and polite, though she wanted to tell them off in the most terrible way. “Ah apologize for bothering you. Ah’ll be on my way.”

She kept herself together until she found a nearby riverside park. She dismounted the bike and sat on the grass. Ah remember sitting’ by the lake, always loved the water, always my safe place. Then, putting her face in her hands, she cried. A stone cold killer vigilante treats me with more respect than my own blood. That made her cry harder. She thought about her mother, really dredged up all her memories about her, and she began to let out her grief long buried. She stopped, finally, to stare back out at the water and listen to the gentle and soothing lapping.

Now, she didn’t even know if she wanted to try to find her father’s family. She had an inkling he was part of the reason her grandparents repudiated her. Yeah, she knew he wasn’t necessarily the world’s greatest man, but he had to possess a quality that made her mother love him. Right? She wondered about how they met and why her grandparents did not do more to stop him from going after an underage girl. Maybe Charlene just had a mind of her own and they got sick of it and her. Still, to disown a fifteen-year-old pregnant girl took a measure of coldness that spoke of their inhumanity. Rogue thought that perhaps she dodged a bullet. She did not want people like that in her life.

She missed Frank. Missed the griminess of New York. Missed being around someone who thought she was worth something. She shook her head; this moodiness was not the real her. Ah know that Ah am someone worth loving. If they don’t want to see that, it’s their loss. Feeling better, she ignored the other people in the park and left the area. If they heard her or not, she chose not to care. She wouldn’t be here for more than a day, anyway. She decided to cut her trip short so she get there in time to spend Christmas Eve with Frank.

Rogue roared down the dirt road that led to Belle Coeur. She put the bike in park and stared at the beautiful antebellum mansion. She remained astride her bike while deciding what to do and even if she dared to announce herself. All good family estates have names, especially down here in the South, as if they’re houses fit for royalty. Some of the houses were indeed fit for royalty. Belle Coeur was one of them. Built with delicate ironwork and imposing white pillars, this was more of a historical landmark than someone’s cozy home.

"Can I help you? You don't seem like our usual clientele." An amused voice said from behind Rogue. It had a pleasant tone and Rogue turned to see a man with white hair and solid black eyes--no white in them at all--study her with interest. He was a tall, handsome man though he appeared pale. There was a familiarity about his face and Rogue thought she recognized his smile as her own. He liked dressing in the western fashion, clearly, with jeans that covered his boots and a shirt much like what cowboys wore when they wrangled cattle.

"Yes, Ah think you can. My name's Lorelai Williams and Ah'm looking for any member of the Arsenault family." She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to go on. "Ah've been told that my biological father was Robert Arsenault. God rest his soul." 

The man perked up immediately. "You must be Charlene's daughter. It's nice to finally meet you. My name's Will and I'm your oldest half-brother." He extended a hand--which Rogue took after making sure her gloves were on. "We've heard a little about you. Why don't you take a tour of the grounds with me and we can get caught up?”

Rogue shared what parts of her life she could without mentioning Frank. With a surprising amount of trust, she told him she was a mutant and what her powers were. Ah think he's different too. Like me. It was his eyes that gave him away. No one that was an ordinary human had eyes like a great white's--all black and fathomless. A predator's eyes. "So that's pretty much what happened to me. My momma's people didn't want anything to do with me. Ah guess Ah won't blame ya if you kicked me to the curb."

Will's eyes became fierce slits. "That's not how the Arsenaults take care of their own. We're a family of black sheep, but we protect and provide for our blood. We do what we can for those less fortunate, too. I'm sorry for how they treated you--you're better off without them." Silently, he fumed. Family did not treat one another like a piece of unwanted shit. He led them through the beautiful gardens and explained the family history all the way back to the civil war. The scent of jasmine floated through the air, heavy and fragrant. Roses bloomed crimson red among the green leaves. Rogue loved the beauty here and thought she could disappear among the almost unearthly trees draped with Spanish moss.

"This place is lovely. But what's with all the cars over there?" She pointed toward ten or so vehicles.

Will hid his head. There was no way she could know this, of course, but his family had opened up the estate for burlesque performances. Belle Coeur was an expensive estate to run and they needed the funds desperately. The upkeep was tremendous on Belle Coeur. The mansion had ten bedrooms, a sunroom, two kitchens, and the marble floored ballroom which was the pride of the estate. "My mother decided to turn part of the house over for what I prefer to call exotic dancing. We have a large ball room perfect for such goings on. "

He stressed, "We do not allow sexual favors to be performed and any girl caught doing so will be banned. So will the patron. We have that unspoken understanding: no prostitution, no persecution."

Rogue thought it could be worse. Still, exotic dancing was not necessarily an honorable profession but as long as the women were choosing to do it, she needed to keep her mouth shut. There were worse things in the world to be other than some variation of a belly dancer. For example, a sharpshooting assistant to a vigilante. “Ah’ve got no room to judge you and the rest of the Arsenaults. Ain’t my place.” As long as you ain’t hurting anyone, that is.

Will smiled at her. “Sorry the others aren’t here. Most of our siblings live out of state. My mother would’ve liked to been introduced to you, but she’s in Paris. Probably picking out antiques for Belle Coeur, if I know her. How long are you planning on staying?”

“Not long, thinking about heading back tomorrow. Ah was originally planning on heading back the day after tomorrow, but with the fiasco regarding the DuBois…Ah don’t think Ah want to stay.”

“Why don’t you come back here tomorrow? We can spend the day visiting and I can tell you more about our history. My history, too.” He acknowledged the trust involved in her revealing to him that she was a mutant. He had to decided how much he wanted to tell her about himself and about his abilities. “We’ll have a nice lunch in the sunroom and take a tour of the inside of the plantation.”

Rogue felt happy and relieved that Will wanted her back to chat some more. “Ah would be honored to come back for lunch. Is noon too early?”

She came back at noon, their agreed upon time. He met her in the driveway and escorted her up the stairs and into the grand home. “Welcome to Belle Coeur,” He said with a proud grin.

The house, intricately designed, seemed to have sprung from the movie Gone With the Wind. Lavish wood panels on the walls, highly polished floors and the best crystal chandeliers took her breath away. The furnishings were of a French country style, which was complementary to that of the antebellum mansion. 

“This is beautiful, a fine house. Too nice for little old me to be in.” Rogue, humbled by how extravagant everything seemed, felt overwhelmed to be there. She much preferred the simple surroundings of what lay in store for her in New York. Everything in this …house…is so delicate. So breakable.

“Nonsense. I won’t have that kind of talk. In fact, I told my mother about you last night and she offered to give you a home.” Will led the way to the ornate sunroom, kissed by gold accents and a cream marble tile floor. In the center of the floor, lay a sun mosaic. He showed her to a seat next to a window that overlooked a private lake.

Rogue gave him a glance that indicated her thoughts. “Why would your mother give her husband’s bastard a place to stay? Why wouldn’t she hate me?”

Will told her bluntly, “She doesn’t see the purpose of hating a child. You are not to blame for the circumstances of your birth. She did hate Father for a while after it came out he slept with an underage girl, but he died before she finalized the divorce papers. That was the one partner she could not forgive him for. I don’t know how much you know, but Charlene told Robert she was eighteen so he’d sleep with her.”

“Sounds like her, honestly. She gave her own parents hell, wouldn’t listen, had to have things her way. Ah guess Ah shouldn’t blame them for their feelings about me.” Rogue spied the portrait of the man she assumed was her father. Very handsome and with an expression of mischief set in his clear grey eyes.

“That’s him, alright. And you aren’t your mother.” He rang the bell and a maid came out with her lunch. A delicious jambalaya served with homemade cornbread and root beer was given to her.

“Why aren’t you eating?” She asked, an instant before she dived into her meal.

“I already ate. I’ll tell you more about it after you finish.” He watched with amusement as she delicately plowed through her jambalaya and mopped up the remnants with her cornbread. 

“Well,” She said, and dabbed at her face with a cloth napkin. “Tell me why you didn’t have lunch with me.” Rogue sipped at some water, the sensation of the jambalaya burned her mouth.

Will gathered his thoughts. “You already know I’m like you, a mutant. I subsist off of the life force of others. I don’t need much, or every day for that matter. I don’t kill people either. My power works without touch. I generally go out into a crowd and get what I need that way.” He asked her how her power worked.

“Huh. Even though Ah can kill people within fifteen seconds, Ah don’t exactly get their energy. Ah do get impressions of their personalities and powers, if they have any.” Rogue drank some more water. Their powers were different, but very similar in some ways as well. He got the short end of the genetic stick. Ah think he has it worse off than Ah do, poor guy.

“I also have an ability I call Dread. I can make people fear me if I concentrate hard enough. I don’t like to use it, but I will if someone needs to be defended. It makes me a great bouncer when there’s an unruly customer. It’s preferable to violence, in my opinion. In fact, I loathe violence. However, it has some drawbacks. It doesn’t work on psychopaths or others unable to feel fear.”

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” Rogue said, simply. And she thought it was just as well as she did not tell him her profession.

“I know how isolating powers like these can make you. I just want you to know you’re not alone.” Will said in return.

The rest of the visit went wonderfully. Rogue loved having a brother that she knew she could get along with. She told him that while very grateful for the offer of a home, she had one in New York City that she missed. She left him with a sincere promise to keep in touch.

The next day, there was a polite knock on the Dubois’s door. Genevieve hoped it wasn’t the young lady again. They had enough trouble with her mother. They did not need a repeat performance from her illegitimate offspring. George was downtown at the hardware store, picking up some nails and screws for a home improvement project, so Genevieve was left to answer the door.

She sighed with physical relief when she noticed the caller was a tall young man with striking white hair. His frown cut like a knife and she was a little frightened of this man, as if he made her skin crawl.

“I won’t be long, Mrs. Dubois. I don’t have much to say other than this: You disowned your own blood. You hurt someone you didn’t know because of your difficult daughter. That offends me.” His eyes grew more intense and Genevieve began to shake. “I know you kicked Charlene out on the street when she got pregnant. What kind of monster does that to their own child and grandchild?”

“She…wouldn’t listen.” She stammered.

“Charlene wouldn’t listen or did you just tell her what to do and expect her to follow your every wish? Children aren’t like that. Children need to be listened to, Mrs. Dubois, not forced TO listen. Frankly, Lorelai is too good for you and I’m glad she decided you and George are a waste of her time. You missed out on getting to know a good person. Now say you’re sorry for treating both of them like shit.” He amped up his Dread ability and she fell to her knees.

She shook uncontrollably, her fear raged out of control and tears poured like a monsoon down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. So sorry.” The instant she said those words, the fear let up, a relief shone through on her expression.

“Good.” Will said then went back to the Belle Coeur.

Rogue called Frank to tell him that she would be up on Christmas Eve. 

“Don’t try to drive that bike in. The streets are icy and packed with snow due to the storm that rolled in. Park it in …” he gave her the name of a garage in Richmond, “and I’ll pick it up for you. Go to the Greyhound station and you’ll find a ticket.” Frank said.

“Thank you, Frank.” She replied.

“Don’t mention it, Lori. Get back up here so you can be a pain in my ass again.” She thought she heard a smile over the phone line.

“Ah promise to be a pain in the ass and then some.” Rogue grinned.

 

# # #

Angelo Martin stopped by David’s office. He leaned against the door frame with a nonchalance that irritated David. “I’m taking you out to lunch. You like Italian?” 

“I do but I’m finishing up with the Church case right now. It’s almost ready to turn in.” David told him as he stopped typing on his desktop.

“I’m here to tell you that the Church case is closed. No further investigation will be required on the woman.” He leaned closer to give David a tidbit of information. “Word has it that someone in the CIA may be redacting her from the files, like she’s a spook or some shit. So you keep your mouth shut about her too. Consider that an order.”

That was very interesting. All he could think of to say was, “Italian sounds good.”

“Let’s be on our way then. We have a reservation at Gnucci’s Ristorante. It’s supposed to be a great joint to nosh at.” Martin informed him with a smug expression on his face. David took note of that and wondered if there were a sinister motive behind this, that was what his instinct told him. He’s my BOSS. There’s nothing afoot here. I’m getting as paranoid as my old man.

David thought it sounded more like a restaurant that mobsters dined at, but he said nothing as he followed his supervisor to the car. He assumed that Martin would be driving and he did.

The restaurant was very classy, with nice silverware and expensive glasses that sparked. It was also empty, too empty for a busy workday. It should be crowded with businessmen conducting lunch or men wooing their girlfriends or wives. David was mistaken. There was a large man seated in the back. His eyes studied David intensely.

David heard the click of the door being locked behind him. “What’s going on?” He looked over his shoulder at his boss.

“The Kingpin has a message he’d like to give to your father. Your real father.” Angelo Martin smirked again and David just managed to make his way to where the Kingpin presided over the restaurant. “Oh, and call him Mr. Fisk. He hates the name Wilson and is a fanatic for manners. Remain polite, and you’ll be alright.”

Wilson Fisk gave a polite welcome when David approached the table. “Good to meet you, Mr. Salvatore or is it Mr. Castle now?”

“Still Salvatore, Mr. Fisk.” At a gesture from the Kingpin, he took a chair. In his mind, the Godfather music played. He half expected to get whacked.

Wilson Fisk smiled. “You are different from him; I see it in your eyes. That is a good thing.” He picked up a menu and chose what he wanted to eat. 

David, nervous now, couldn’t help but ask, “How’d did you find out?” Goddamn, I knew this lunch was going to be bad. A waiter, face as calm as the moon, stood by to take their orders. He was long accustomed to peculiarities of the Kingpin and made sure to give him great and discreet service because he wanted to make it home alive to his wife and children.

“Select your lunch and we’ll talk over the meal. I’m rather hungry.” Wilson selected a chicken cacciatore and a white wine. 

David picked out a dish called mostaccioli mosta, and pronounced it correctly. He also ordered a glass of milk. He did not want his senses muddled with alcohol. He thanked the waiter who glided off to fulfill the order.

“You pronounced that as well as a real Italian, Mr. Castle.” Fisk told him, a faint hint of approval in his voice.

David did not like that he was using the surname Castle when he so obviously said that Salvatore was what he called himself. However, given his current situation, David was not about to correct the Kingpin. “My adopted father, a native from Italy, spoke his native language quite fluently and taught me.” He got the impression that the Kingpin tested him for signs of weakness and other vulnerabilities.

The meals were delivered to them and Wilson Fisk ate his with well-mannered aplomb. Salads and freshly cooked bread sticks were also provided. David struggled through his lunch, though it tasted delicious. He found it hard to eat while with a well-known crime figure. But he managed to finish, out of politeness sake.

Wilson Fisk imparted the story of how he discovered the truth. David’s anger bubbled under the surface, but kept it hidden. I’m going to the range this afternoon and I will pretend each and every one of the targets is Angelo Martin’s head.

The waiter, appearing like an apparition, cleared the table of dishes then was gone.

“So what message do you want to give me, Mr. Fisk?” David’s sense of apprehension grew.

The large man withdrew five glossy pictures of David’s children. “Only this; tell him to leave her alone. He’ll know who I’m talking about. It would be a shame if friendly fire were to occur when Kevin is shipped off, or a tragic car accident should befall the lovely Emma and Eleanor. Not to mention a shooting might occur where Cameron and Trent go to school.”

The blood in David’s veins ran cold. “I’ll relay the message, but don’t ever threaten my children again or Frank Castle will be the last person you have to worry about. Mr. Fisk.”

Wilson Fisk just smiled, a blank gesture promising violence if his will was not done. “I’ll do as I please and you can’t stop me, MR. Castle. Angelo, we’re done. Take him away. He has his task to perform.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't believe in physical punishment for children. It causes unnecessary problems." Daredevil said, dryly.
> 
> "Worked for me as a kid. I learned my lesson after a spanking or two." Frank studied the two boys below, making contact with the drug dealers and exchanging money.
> 
> "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case." Daredevil retorted back at Frank.

David searched his phone log for the number he dialed to contact Frank. He hoped and prayed it was in service and that Frank hadn’t disposed of it yet. A couple rings, tinny and dissonant, let him know that at least his call was going through.

A tired voice answered the phone. “You ok, Lori?” It sounded like Frank had a hard night. If David didn’t know what he did for a living, he might feel worse for his father.

“This is David, not your padawan Lori. I hate to disturb you but this is important. Really important.” He packed up everything in his apartment that he had on Frank, except for the locket. That was stashed behind a picture. His intention was to burn every scrap of information he possessed. He couldn’t afford the risk of having any of this incriminating evidence here.

“It better be, son.” Frank warned, as he sat up in his bed. He’d been ready to call it a night and get some sleep.

“The Kingpin knows I’m your son. He knows about my children. In fact, he’s threatened them if I don’t give you this message: Leave her alone. He said you’d know who he meant.” David said.

“Fuck.” Frank growled, not angry at David, but at Wilson Fisk. “Yeah, I know who he’s talking about. I didn’t realize that he was affiliated with that particular woman. How’d he find out?”  
Silence, then David replied. “As best as I can figure out, from work when I ran the DNA. I thought I was careful, but I guess not enough. Anyhow, my boss Angelo Martin works for him. The fucking Kingpin has connections in the FBI and I don’t know how far this corruption goes.” He was not only concerned for the well-being of his children, but of other people who could be denied justice.

“One problem at a time, kiddo.” Frank drawled. This wasn’t good news and Frank had no idea what do to. Other than maybe get … “Go to Matt Murdock’s office. Yeah, he’s the new prosecutor. He’s the one man I’d say is absolutely incorruptible. He’s an asshat, but trustworthy. Tell him Frank sent you.” He winced, his chest felt tight for few seconds then he relaxed.

“That’s a good idea, Frank. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, so I don’t suppose he’ll be in. Guess I’ll drop in after Christmas.” Besides, David was going to be busy tomorrow. The family was due to come in about three and he wanted to be here for them. He was going to have some food brought in at two, so everything would be prepared and waiting for them to dive into.

“No. He’ll be in the office for a few hours; Matt is a workaholic. Go see him in the morning. You’ll have plenty of time to talk with him and be with your family.” Frank ordered, each word like the sharp retort of a silenced gun. I’d have said pay him a visit tonight, but I think he’s off playing with his night stick right now. “Scram, Junior. We’ll talk later.” He finished gruffly, but not without affection.

Frank rose from his bed and put on his pants, boots and shirt. He was going to find the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. They needed to have a discussion. If things went badly, maybe they could beat each other up as was their custom when they had disagreements. I should have known someone would find out. News like this always gets out. He worried about Sarah now. 

# # #

Daredevil ran along the edge of the roof, quiet as silk rustling against skin. He heard the heartbeats of young children. They carried packages of narcotics. He smelled the telltale scent of drugs. Shit, shit, shit, he thought as he pursued them. They’re so young. I can’t hurt them. Maybe scare the hell out of them, but that’s it. I bet some of these kids are so hardened, they couldn’t be scared straight.

“Hello, Red. What’s got your attention so wrapped up that you didn’t hear me approach? Or is old age catching up to you? I hope you aren’t going deaf, choir boy.” Frank asked from behind him. Daredevil’s nerves seemed to be stretched tight like a garrote over a neck.

Daredevil only told him, anger biting into his voice. “Some of the Kingpin’s goons are using children as runners.” Frank noted that Matt’s hand was tightly clenched over his baton.

Frank came up beside Matt, a set of red and black vigilantes posed against the obsidian sky, swirled with charcoal grey clouds. He grimaced, just as irate as Matthew. “They look to be in their early teens. God damn it. God damn Wilson Fisk.” More than ever he wanted to put a .50 caliber bullet in that fat fuck. However, the risk to the people of New York was too great. A new Kingpin would rise and innocent souls, families like his, could be in the crossfire. That wasn’t a risk even Frank wanted to take. “What are we going to do? Administer an ass whooping?”

“I don’t believe in physical punishment for children. It causes unnecessary problems.” Daredevil said, dryly.

“Worked for me as a kid. I learned my lesson after a spanking or two.” Frank studied the two boys below, making contact with the drug dealers and exchanging money.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I rest my case.” Daredevil retorted back at Frank. 

Frank restrained himself from making a sarcastic reply and gave his fellow vigilante a small, wry smile. They had to take action that much was crystal clear. They could not just let the boys run amok in the city. Frank would not kill a child, despite what other people may or may not think.

“I know even you wouldn’t kill a kid, but do you have any idea what to do with the young idiots?” Daredevil asked.

“Leave them with the most terrifying nun I know of. Her name is Sister Anna-Marie. I don’t know if you’ve met her, but she is one of God’s fiercest creatures. Put on earth to frighten everyone.” Frank muttered. “Have them listen to her for a few hours, then have her turn them over to social workers.” It wasn’t much, but all Frank could figure out to do. The children—ones that fancied themselves young men—were concluding their business.

“That’s cruel and unusual punishment.” Daredevil replied, but not with much vigor. He had heard of her. She would not tolerate much in the way of nonsense from those rapscallions, but she possessed much compassion for the downtrodden. 

“It’s better than what will happen to them in five years. I’ll let you deal with them.” Frank said, then added as an afterthought. “I wanted to make sure that you’re going to be in the office tomorrow. I have someone that needs to talk to you.”

Matt sighed. He did have some paperwork that had to be reviewed before the case on the following Tuesday. He worked hard as a prosecutor and Frank knew it. “Yes, I’ll be in for three or four hours. Should be in about eight, so have the person in question show up then. What does he or she want to talk about?”

Frank confided everything to him. He did this because he wanted Matt to hear it from him to verify what David would say the next day. “So that’s it. David is Frank Junior and certain agents of the FBI are in cahoots with Kingpin. They’re using him and his family to control me. But my main problem is that there seems to be a great deal of corruption in that particular FBI branch. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.” 

Daredevil blinked a few times under his mask and tried to sort out what Frank confided. “Jesus, Frank. That’s … incredible.” He shifted and his costume creaked with the movement. What a gift to have been given, and quite an adjustment to have to make for him.

“Incredible is an accurate description for it, yes.” Frank said, harshly. “But now that word’s gotten out to the wrong people, what remains of my family is in danger.” He didn’t care about himself so much, but harming, say, his eight-year-old grandson would be guaranteed to get him into action. And it would be the kind of action to leave a lasting and bloody chapter in the annuals of police work.

“I understand and I’ll do what I can to root out the corruption. It might take me some time, so be warned.” Maybe that’s the real reason Frank is going underground, Matt contemplated. But then he remembered Mystique. Frank had his hands full, that was certain.

Frank nodded. “I figured.” He glanced down and noticed the two boys concluded their business. “Time for me to leave and you to round up the boys.” Frank’s chest felt tight again and he ever so slightly winced.

Daredevil cocked his head and focused intensely for a moment. “Frank, be careful. Something’s up with your heart.” He had to give the warning. He wasn’t best buddies with the fearsome vigilante but gave him the same regard he would to normal people. 

“It’s just stress, Red. I’ll be fine.” Frank murmured and hoped it was true. It had been an extremely stressful few weeks, but Frank knew he was older and recalled his father died of heart disease at age sixty. Heart problems are definitely in the realm of possibility for me. He thought of the infinity formula again and gave it more consideration.

“What do we do about Mystique? Have the plans changed in regards to the blue menace?” He researched her and what he found confirmed Frank’s assertion that she was a walking plague on humanity. 

“We need to destabilize Wilson Fisk before we attack ‘the blue menace’. I’m not talking killing him, though you know that would be my preference, but taking out some of his sources of income and making sure he’s distracted.” Frank said. This is going to require finesse and care. “I’ll take on that problem. You start with the children ‘soldiers’. They’re armed. I saw glocks tucked in their coats.”

Frank walked off and Matt called out to him. “See you at Josie’s in a few days?”

“Yes.” Then Frank melted into the night and Daredevil was left to pursue the young hooligans. 

# # #

Frank went to a secure location, isolated and sound proofed against even the loudest screams, where he began his preparation on just exactly what he’d do with Mystique. The room was small but very protected. The large vat of acid patiently awaited its blue offering. A table held a vial of a sticky substance that would harden on contact and there was an electric device not unlike a Taser, but this device had the capability of administering a constant shock when the hooks were embedded in flesh. 

Mystique is vulnerable to jolts of strong electricity. It will incapacitate her long enough to give her a bath in acid. All I have to do is wear special gear. He selected acid as the method of death due to her ability. He’d gamble not even her mutation would survive that. The sticky substance was to help subdue her enough to jab her with those hooks.

Matt would help David and his family. Maybe get them into witness protection and give them new names and identities. And out of New York City, long enough to find dirt on his FBI supervisor and remove that asshole from his position. Despite Fisk’s threat against Kevin, the fact remained that the resources needed to murder the Navy SEAL and make it appear as friendly fire would be extremely difficult. 

The SEALS are hard to kill. Frank had known a few and trained with them, even liked some of them. The rest of the Salvatore (his mind cried CASTLE, mostly because he did not want that cancer riddled kidnapper to claim those that carried Frank’s blood as his own) brood did stand a small chance of being harmed, but it was a possibility that existed no matter what Frank did. But Matt knew his business, had some connections in D.C that Frank lacked. 

His ultimate goal was to spread his targets and spread them thin.

The Kingpin’s threat only served to make Frank more determined to put an end to Mystique and be a poisonous thorn in Fisk’s side. Frank took a chair and pulled out his knife and whetstone. He sharpened it as he let his mind contemplate possible outcomes, or outcomes that Wilson Fisk hoped might come to fruition. To live under the shadow of the Kingpin is not a fate that I want for David and the children.

Finished with the knife and the setup, he ventured home. He paid no attention to people on the street. He just wanted to be done with the day; he was getting too old for this shit. I’m 68 years old. The clock in the van said 11:59. Almost Christmas Eve. A cold time of year in more ways than one for him. Colder for David, I’d wager. 

Frank became weary of thinking and needed some true sleep, he headed directly for a hot shower in order to relax. Divesting himself of his clothes, kicking them aside, he went into the small stall then it hit. A sudden pain in his chest, breath grew short, and a growing pressure on his chest made him panic. His head spun around like an amusement ride on Coney Island. That’s what I get for not listening to Matt. Frank winced and tried to catch his breath.

He recognized the symptoms now. A heart attack. He remembered sticking the syringe in a drawer just inside the galley. For a horrifying second, he had a mental image of Rogue finding him cold, naked and dead on the floor when she finally showed up. That gave him enough motivation to pull himself out and stumble toward the syringe. His shaky hands fumbled for the handle and pulled it open. He grabbed it just as he lost strength and slid to the laminate surface, skin still pearled with beads of water. 

This doesn’t exactly hurt, just feels like the breath is being pushed out of me. Still, dying was not what he wanted to do, especially in this undignified fashion. He primed the syringe and plunged it into the meaty part of his thigh. He pushed until all the purple fluid disappeared.

His head whirled like a dervish now and his last conscious thought was that this formula didn’t work after all and that poor Rogue would have a mess to clean up. His hand fell with a small thwap sound and the needle continued to be imbedded in his leg.

# #

It was Christmas Eve, noon, and snow drifted like an angel’s kiss in the pragmatic and hardened city of New York.

Rogue disembarked the bus at the Port Authority terminal. After weaving her way through the overwhelming throng of humanity, she waved down a taxi and glared at a man who thought he was going to take it away from her. The expression in her eyes cowed him and he backed off. Not that she blamed him, but she was in no mood to put up with shenanigans from people today.  
She had the taxi driver, name of Travis, drop her off three blocks away, after making a brief stop at a store for some food. She paid him a generous tip and wanted to be on her way. All she wanted to do was rest and put up her feet. She was so close… “Merry Christmas Eve, ma’am.” He said with a friendly smile.

“And to you. Take care, Travis. Don’t work too hard.”

The young man laughed. “I won’t. You were my last fare for the day.” He drove off, then. Slowly because of the impacted snow and ice on the road. The taxi fishtailed, then righted itself before it disappeared from view. Rogue, relieved that she made it back more or less safely, trudged the short distance down to the docks. She peeked in the small garage and was rewarded with the sight of the black battle van.

Ah’m glad he’s in. She glanced in the bag she brought. Ham, potatoes, milk, green beans, rolls and ingredients for an apple pie. That would be their dinner tonight; it was Christmas Eve so healthy diets be damned. She unlocked the door and slid inside. “Hey, Frank. It’s me.”

She heard nothing and she set the bags down. “Frank?” The boat was not large and she turned to see Frank passed out on the flooring, naked as the day he was born, legs splayed and arms to his side. “Oh my god, what happened to you?” Groceries forgotten, she rushed to take his vitals. Breathing? Measured and steady, as if just asleep. Two lightly clothed fingers sought the carotid artery. His heartbeat, solid, let her know that he’d be ok. Then, she noticed the syringe. 

“What in hell did you do to yourself?” Rogue asked, angrily, though to herself and not to him. The lines on his face began to smooth and the scars on his body faded to nothingness. What did he inject himself with? Botox? “Ah better get you to bed and make you comfortable.” She went to his bunk and pulled down the sheets. She grunted as she hauled Frank the distance over to his bed. With a tremendous effort, she managed to put half of him on the bed and it was no problem to lift his legs to accompany the rest of him. She draped his bedclothes over him to make him warm and give him some modesty.

Rogue worked in the galley, to keep her hands busy with a productive task, preparing their dinner when he finally woke up. She kept a sharp eye on him while she went through her routine of honey glazing the ham, chopping up the green beans, and other culinary tasks. She just finished prepping the pie to go in the small oven and shoved it in.

“You’re awake, thank goodness. What in God’s name happened to you, Frank? And why do you look like you’re in your mid-twenties?” Nervousness hung in her voice. Handsome. Frank was handsome, she thought.

Frank blinked as he glanced up at Rogue, who helped herself to a seat on his bed. “Fury gave me something he thought I could use. Originally, I wasn’t going to take it and intended to give it back to him, but I,” here he hesitated, not sure how much he wanted to disclose to her, but told her anyway. “had a heart attack and took it. I didn’t want you to find me dead, naked and cold.”

Rogue blushed and stained her cheeks a rosy pink. “Better to find you nude and alive, than dead and clothed.” She said primly. 

“You managed to get me in bed?” He asked. He still felt weak, but that would pass soon enough.

Rogue nodded and replied, “All those pull-ups and weights you had me do made a difference.”

“Glad to have you back, soldier, even if it is temporary. Have you decided?” Frank asked as the aroma from dinner washed over him. He began to get hungry, which was a good sign.

“Yeah, Ah’m gonna do it. Ah mean, Ah love it here and … and you know Ah love you too, but it’s necessary for me to have my own life. And good for me to meet others.” Rogue said, then blushed harder as he leaned forward, making the blanket slip a little. Rogue sensed the intense wave of fierce intensity rolling off of him. Frank Castle, in a word, could be described as forceful.  
He told her seriously, “You shouldn’t tell me—or anyone else—that unless you mean it.” His blue eyes were both thoughtful and piercing. 

“Ah do. Ah thought Ah knew it before Ah went and visited my family. But the five-minute visit with the grandparents showed me that Ah truly did.” She lowered her head and plucked at her jeans. Then the timer on the oven went off and she attended to the pie. “Ah’m not sorry for saying that, Frank. Ah really do mean it and Ah ain’t gonna take it back. Ah love you. Life is too fleeting to let the positive things remain unsaid.”

That tasted of bitter truth. I could have very well died right here. 

Frank rose up and dug out some fresh clothes from under his bunk. There was no noise in the quarters other than the rustling of fabric and the sound of his zipper being pulled into place. He gave it some consideration before he made his response, “I think you know my thoughts on this subject, but we’ll have a discussion soon.” He put a hand on her shoulder, tentatively, as she served up dinner.

She smiled as she piled food on his plate and handed it to him. “Merry Christmas Eve, Francis Castiglione. Let’s eat and BE merry.” Her blue eyes were warm and sparkling like a deep lake.

“I don’t do merry.” He grumbled and accepted the plate. 

“Ok, Krampus.” Rogue joked. “Let’s eat and be grumpy, then. When we’re done, we can go put lumps of coal in all the bad children’s stockings.” 

He versed her about the children being used by Kingpin and her demeanor became more solemn. “Oh, that’s absolutely awful. Hope Double D can find them the help they need.” She slowly munched on her ham. “Damn her and Fisk.”

"Daredevil will.” He ate his meal and helped himself to a small piece of pie. “How’d your visit go?”

“My grandparents didn’t want anything to do with me. Oh well, their loss.” The rejection stung, but Rogue had no ability to make them accept her so she cut them out. “My half-brother, though, makes up for that. He’s a nice guy and Ah’ll keep in contact with him.” She grabbed some more ham and mashed potatoes. And another roll. 

Frank frowned, not able to understand why her grandparents rejected Lori. He, as damaged as he was, would find it hard to resist one of his grandkids if they managed to track him down. “You’re right. Their loss. Do you know why, though?”

“Ah think mostly because of my father’s family. They have a reputation for mischief making, nothing major, but…most of the Arsenaults are seen as nuisances. That and my grandparents couldn’t control my mother when she was fourteen. They’re also fairly religious.” Rogue shrugged to no one in particular. 

This gave time for Rogue to study Frank carefully. He seemed both different and the same. Youth softened his normally hard expression but the same fierce intelligence showed in his eyes. “A word of advice: you’re going to want to be careful when you’re out and about. Some people will have a hard time recognizing you, but Ah think that will prove to be mostly an advantage.”   
He wondered how future interactions with David would play out. Best to tell him the truth when I can. Frank cleared the small table of dishes when they were done eating and washed them. “You relax; I’ll take care of this.” With his usual meticulous nature, he tackled them until not one was left. 

Rogue was more than happy to let him. She stretched out with a contented squeak, her legs were sore and cramped from the bus ride, and thought about turning on the local news. Then she decided to wait for him to finish with the dishes. 

“Want to watch the news?” Rogue asked as he leaned against the wall, towering over her and blocked the overhead light from blazing into her retinas.

“Sure, why not?” He turned on the TV and was immediately assaulted by the local anchor screeching out horrific news, just in time for the holidays. The anchor, male, did not seem to have a brain cell in his head and the news he had to relate to the public did not seem to resonate with him. 

~Local family was gunned down in their apartment today…~ 

Frank turned it off with an abrupt click. The too cheery news anchor pissed him off; the story was not personal to that airhead. “I’m not going to hear that shit from the TV. The police scanner is better and relays more accurate information.” The scanner in question was close by and he flipped it on, messing with the knobs until the voices of cops came through the speakers.

~…law enforcement officer down, several others wounded. Send an ambulance, stat.” The lady’s strained voice shot out the order. “It’s bad. Really bad. Send more officers immediately!”


	13. Chapter 13

The large man rested on the sofa while taking a break from decorating. The meeting with Matt Murdock had gone well. David related his long tale and it appeared Matt believed him, or at least took what he had to say seriously. Of course, he was an FBI agent so his word carried a lot of weight in court, and any lawyer would know that.

David liked Matt Murdock, especially after it accidentally came up that he was Catholic. David discovered a rosary peeking from his pocket as Matt stood, and pointed out before Matt lost it. Then David confessed that he was devout as well, and that took Matt aback. They talked for a while about the faith and their vehement opposition to the death penalty before David needed to leave for domestic chores.

With a sigh, he hoisted himself off the sofa and concentrated on getting this arduous task done. He finished setting up the Christmas Tree and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The ornaments, splashes of blue, red, gold and white were well spaced and the colored lights twinkled as merrily as the fictional Santa’s eyes. David placed silvery strands judiciously on the tree and thought he was done, except for putting on the star. He went for the delicate antique, all filigree and plated with real gold, tree top. He unwrapped it and fleeting bits of happier Christmases invaded his mind. He slid the star in place, tree now fully decorated.

The first Christmas he spent with Morena, the one where she told him she was pregnant with their eldest, and Trent’s very first one. He smiled, choosing to remember only good memories that would bring him joy. He almost felt his family’s presence, happy spirits that tugged at his heart.

He placed Christmas presents for everyone under the tree. David thought hard about it, but caved in and bought a crimson cashmere sweater for Morena. He saved that present for last. He, however, did not purchase one for Erik. His generosity had a limit. This is going to be a special Christmas Eve. He took a last look at the tree and the plentiful bounty underneath. David played with the arrangement of the presents until he was satisfied.

The man, aware that the whiskey and Zoloft bottles remained at large in the apartment, located and put them away. The whiskey went in a locked liquor cabinet, purchased for this occasion, and the actual medication went in the bathroom, accompanying such medicinal luminaries as Pepto Bismol and Advil.

I wish the old man felt like he could have showed up, but I guess I understand. He shoved his murphy bed back to where it belonged—he needed the space. Then he went about fiddling with the table and chairs. As long as I’m wishing, I WISH Morena could have left Erik behind. He flipped the table, which had the capacity to seat all of them, on its feet. Then he unfolded the chairs and tucked them underneath.

The food, delivered on time and piping hot, was kept warm in the oven. He danced around the table, dressing it and trying to remember how to place the silverware. He gave up and hoped for the best. He had just got everything ready when the buzzer rang. He hit the intercom and Morena announced their arrival, along with Cameron and Trent yelling “Merry Christmas, Dad! We love you!”  
“Ok,” He laughed at their enthusiasm. “I’ll be right down. Love you guys too.” 

David grinned like Saint Nick after too many sugar cookies as he strode down the hallway and stairs to buzz them in. He was swarmed by all his children, Kevin hitched a ride with them and the twins took the train and met everyone at his apartment. Erik managed to find parking nearby and they had to walk three blocks in the cold. Their faces were brightened by the searing touch of the low temperature.

“I missed all of you. Thanks for making it.” He said as he watched Eleanor and Emma, golden haired and blue eyed, then embrace Morena. Cameron, reserved as always, hung back while Trent jumped up and down for his attention. “The food’s going to get cold and I’d like to get all of you indoors. New York City is brutal this time of year.”

Erik trailed behind, but David did not mind at all. Trent jabbered and hugged his leg, brown eyes happy and full of excitement. Morena had her arms full of gaily wrapped gifts. David noted that Erik neglected to assist his wife, but Eleanor and Emma, shooting Erik a dirty glance, helped their mother.

“Can we open presents before dinner?” Trent asked hopefully. He bounced around the apartment with the joy of a rabbit.

David shook his head. “You know the rules. Dinner and family time first. THEN presents.” He opened the door to the apartment and ushered them inside. “Welcome to Casa de Salvatore. It’s a humble place but it’s mine.” For the time being.

Morena exclaimed, “You finally learned to set the table. I’m so proud of you.” She went over to David as if to kiss him, but he moved aside. She handed the rest of the presents over to the girls and they rushed to put them under the tree. Eleanor and Emma were embarrassed for their mother. She obviously made a play to get their dad back, but he refused to go along.

“Don’t.” He said, with a gentle frown. What he meant was, I don’t fucking want any part of your lips touching me. The kids all gathered at the table, stomachs gurgling with hungry intent. Kevin had a spirited argument with both the twins; what branch of the military was the coolest. Marines or SEALS. Eleanor argued in favor of the Marines, Emma was undecided and Kevin defended his position with valor. Cameron and Trent played a game called “Who can slug the hardest.” Surprisingly, Trent won this time and Cameron rubbed his arm ruefully in brotherly defeat.

Morena made a grimace when she saw that he wore his holster. That meant he had his gun on him. She wished he’d put it away and out of sight. “Can’t you take that off? It’s Christmas Eve.”

“I don’t have a gun safe, yet. Planned on getting it before the family came over but…. things came up and I forgot. The safest place for the gun is on me.” David explained and kicked himself for not picking one up. He should have, a long time ago, even before the Christmas Eve party. He knew how Morena felt about guns; she hated all of them and thought America should be gun-less like Britain. 

“Doesn’t your father have a house somewhere in Brooklyn?” Erik casually asked. “And what’s going to happen to it when he passes on?”

David wanted his size 13 shoe to make its acquaintance with Eric’s thuggish face. “Yes, he does. He says I can do whatever I choose with it right now, but I’m not sure what I want to do.” His instinct yelled at him not to trust Erik that he was scum of the earth. Then why am I letting this asshole be a step-dad to my youngest? After the holidays, he decided, I’ll ask for full custody. I’ll stop drinking and get on track for them. Then we’ll move into Dad’s house.

“Sell it and make lots of money. Maybe plump up Cam and Trent’s college funds.” Erik smirked, sleaze oozing from that expression. Morena grimaced in disgust at her husband and David empathized with her.

Or maybe what you mean is give you and Morena money. No thank you. “It’s a nice four-bedroom house. I’m thinking of moving in and saving money. The boys will be able to visit with me, then.”

“If you do that, you can afford more child support.” Erik countered.

Morena said, “No. I will not be seeking more support. The kids have more than what they need and we’ll just have to live within our means on my salary. This is Christmas Eve, and I’d rather be talking about happier, more positive topics. So can it, Erik.”

Silence hung like fog over the table. Erik tried to become invisible. Then Cameron piped up with, “I’m hungry. Can we eat yet?”

David gave his boy a nod and a fatherly grin. Morena lent a hand to David, supporting him as he laid out the delicious turkey and other side dishes. She poured milk for the boys and let their grown up offspring fend for themselves. She gave him a sad and shy smile and mouthed, “I’m sorry for everything.”

He set down the last of the plates and returned that smile. I would have loved you for the rest of my life, Morena, but you fucked it up. “Let’s just make do with what we have. We’ve got great kids and we are friends. That’s more than many divorced people have.” Divorce Erik. Start your life over again. But that was a conversation for another time.

“Talk about that after dinner and presents, please. Trent and I are starving.” Cameron pleaded, the lavish meal just smelled irresistible to him and it was practically torture to not partake of the culinary treasure. Trent nodded in agreement like the scamp he was. Eleanor quietly argued with Kevin under her breath about the various cons of the new gun registration bill. Eleanor was pro-gun, but   
David did not know if that was to piss off Morena or if she truly believed in the second amendment. Eleanor had always been a little aggressive and very inclined to defend people who could or would not stick up for themselves. Fierce. Eleanor was best described as fierce.

There was an incident when Eleanor was in High School that he remembered. Some bully picked on a handicapped teen who happened to be a close buddy and Eleanor, having taken judo classes at the time, threw the young idiot on the ground and put him in an arm lock until he apologized to her friend. She, having received a tongue lashing by the principal, was suspended for three days. But the bully left her and her friend alone after that.

He remembered asking, “Why did you do this, Eleanor? I didn’t raise you to be violent.”

She just returned his gaze and said, “Because I cannot stand to see someone getting misused if I can do something about it. And I wasn’t violent. I just taught a bully something he’ll never forget. I didn’t break a bone; I didn’t make him bleed. I just made him THINK.”

What can you say in response to that? All I can do is worry about the person she’ll become. He brought himself back to current events.

“Eleanor, Kevin, no talking politics at the dinner table. We don’t want to start a family feud. Again.” David said, and cut the turkey, giving everyone a generous slice. Everyone tore into the side dishes and piled their plates up with high calorie goodness. Everyone ate and talked with good humor and helped themselves to more food when they wanted it. David got up and retrieved more helpings and offered up several pies to the wide eyed wonderment of Cameron and Trent. Cherry and chocolate. The boys would soon be in sugar heaven.

Erik nibbled at his meal, it tasted delicious but he knew he was terribly out of place here. Part of him reveled in breaking up their marriage, but part of him just was uneasy in general. Of course, he knew why but the rest of the imbeciles were clueless. But he piped up with a question in order to be more sociable. “So…does anyone have any interesting news?”

“I have something I’d like to announce.” Eleanor said, unknowingly cutting off Kevin’s deployment declaration. “I’ve decided that being a nurse isn’t for me. I’m leaving college and joining the Marines.”

Cameron and Trent cheered her bold and controversial statement with “Alrights and kick butt, sis.” They were young and did not know better. Kevin kept his thoughts to himself, but already knew   
Mother would be throwing a hissy fit. She certainly blew her top when he got accepted into the Navy. Morena saw no reason for their children to join the military. Mostly because she loathed violence and warfare but also due to her hatred of guns.

Morena sputtered and almost yelled at her. She stood up and loomed over her daughter who regarded Morena with composure. “What? Eleanor, I don’t want you to join the armed forces. What if something happens to you? What if you get sent out to war? Kevin, talk her out of it.”

Kevin read his sister’s cool but determined expression. “I can’t talk her out of it, Mother. Her mind is made up. I’ve told her enough of my own stories that should’ve dissuaded her if that were possible. I’m going to support her decision. Besides, Mom, she’s old enough to make her own choices. In fact, I think she’ll do great as a Marine.”

Morena scoffed at their eldest son and flung her hands up in the air with disgust. “David, maybe you can make her join us back in the realm of sanity.”

“Eleanor is clearly set on it. I’m going to support her as well.” Actually, he gathered from their discussions when she was about sixteen that this was something she wanted to do. He fashioned a deal with her, unbeknownst to Morena, to give college a go first and she did. Now, he needed to fulfill his end of the bargain with Eleanor. He wasn’t hungry anymore and pushed away his plate.

Erik, on the other hand, devoured his food and absorbed the family drama playing out before him. David saw that and seethed, but kept a rein on his temper and mouth. 

“And what about you, Emma? Are you going to quit and run off to join the military?” Morena pointed a finger at her.

“No. I’m happy with school and I will go on to law school. Eleanor wants to feel like she’ll make a difference, Mom. To be honest, well, she’s also not temperamentally suited to being a medical professional.” Emma said as cool as her twin sister.

“I give up. All of you are absolutely insane.” Morena plopped down in her seat, defeated. “Can we talk about another topic? Please?” Although Morena refused to say it, Eleanor’s declaration of intent ruined the holiday for her. However, she wouldn’t let Christmas Eve be destroyed for the other members of her family, especially the youngest.

Emma tried to find a safe topic and had the brilliant idea to ask her father if he’d ever found out who his real father was. “So did you find him?” The kids always knew he had been adopted and were slightly curious to their true family history.

The Castle family history is most definitely not a Christmas story. David remained iffy on whether or not to tell them the identity of ol’ Grandpa. Maybe at some point, I’ll tell Kevin, but I’m not sure about the girls. Especially Eleanor. He’d relay the truth as much as possible to them, though. “His name is Francis and he’s the kind of man who’s used to being alone. He’s interested in you kids, but knowing he has relatives is a concept he needs to get used to.” Honest and to the point. 

“That’s sad that he has to become accustomed to having family.” Emma frowned for a second. “Tell Francis that I’d like to welcome him.” Eleanor, Kevin, Cameron and Trent all agreed. “He doesn’t have to be alone anymore.” 

David thought he raised some awesome people.

Erik began to fidget as if there were ants underneath his clothes and stole glances at his watch. His uneasiness started to make David stare at him, trying to read his gestures. “Dave,” Erik said even though David HATED that abbreviation of his name, “I need to catch some air. What’s the code to get back in the building?”

“4-0-5.” With great reluctance he gave up the code. The only reason he surrendered it was that wanted to spend as much alone time with his family as he could. David reasoned he would get it changed the day after Christmas. “Be careful. It’s cold and while the neighborhood is decent, it’s still New York City.”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll watch out.” Erik scratched his head then left the apartment. The reason for his restlessness? He needed to meet a few people and he had a reward to claim. A few days ago, a man contacted him by phone and offered $50,000 for the location of David Salvatore’s apartment. He mentioned he would be driving there for Christmas Eve with the wife and step-children. 

The voice, booming and ominous, said “Even better. For the record, my name will not be discussed. The nature of my business with Salvatore will not be discussed either.” Erik gave the name of the apartment building and that was that. Plans and intent were delicately discussed and Erik was perfectly fine with what the man wanted to do to the unsuspecting Salvatore clan. David was a self-righteous prick, Morena became a bitch and their children were a pain in his ass.

Now, he was glad that Morena bought life insurance. This would appear to be retaliation for the sting David Fancy-Pants-FBI-Agent took part in. Erik would make off with $50 grand, the insurance (in time) AND get rid of the nuisances known as Morena, Cameron and Trent. He’d have it made and live like a king.

He strolled down the hallway, sat on the railing for the stairs and slid down to land light on his feet. Erik grinned to himself as he exited the well-appointed and secure apartment complex through glass doors. The freezing air hit his lungs with a refreshing burst and he rapidly walked a block down to where the man said they would meet.

Four men were there. One large enough to dwarf a rhino, and dressed very impeccably in a white suit and a red cravat. The other men, skinny as twigs in comparison, were all masked and wearing black clothes. Erik knew they packed guns under their coats and were able to do the deed. The men seemed professional enough, though it wasn’t as if Erik had any discernment when it came to hitmen.

“Before I take you to them, I want my money.” Erik said, boldly. If he were going to betray the Salvatore family, he was going to verify that he was reimbursed for the effort. Afterwards, he’d go home, make up a story about just taking them to the bus station while he remained in Georgia… His cover story would work. 

The enormous--and far from jolly--man laughed and handed him a messenger bag full of money. Erik trusted him, it would be impolite to peek at the incentive, and started to lead the men back to the apartment. “Here’s your thirty pieces of silver.” The man said, tone softly deceptive and dangerous. “I’m not coming with you. I want my hands to be….as clean as possible. My men know what to do. They’ll carry out their mission.” He rubbed his bald head with his huge hand, encrusted with diamond and ruby rings. 

Erik shrugged and took them back to the Salvatore Christmas party, punched in the numbers and heard the door click in acceptance. “Let’s go in, fellas.”

The bulky man shimmered then changed to a voluptuous blue skinned woman. Sweat shone on her forehead; it was hard on her body to shapeshift to a much larger frame. She could do it, but it taxed her tremendously. I almost didn’t make it, though, I felt myself easing into my normal size. But at least I have the framework in place for the rest of my plot. I need to let the aftermath of this soak in, then start with phase two. 

She smiled, shifted her skin to a paler shade of white and slinked back to her limo. The men were able to make their own way home—or not—depending on how fast the police were dispatched.

Erik felt his heart skip a little bit as he hesitated at the door. He knew it was unlocked, but part of him had a moment of clarity, but a gun pointed at his back told him it was too late now, that this was the point of no return. He swung the door open, and the three men pushed him to the side and entered the studio apartment. 

One of them told the other before the gunfire began, “This will be like shooting fish in a barrel at Santa’s house.” They raised their SMG’s and pulled their triggers.

The mood lightened when Erik took his stroll, as if his presence cast a gloom over the party. Pie, in the meantime, had been greedily consumed and everyone was in a better disposition. Everyone chatted and gossiped and spread good cheer. It was almost present time. David, of course, would be playing Santa Claus. So when the door creaked open, the intruders went unnoticed—for a moment before David caught the sharp movement of weapons being drawn.

Kevin noticed that too, grabbed Eleanor and shoved her to the ground, using his body as cover. David pulled out his service weapon and fired at the same time the intruders did.

The room became a slaughterhouse. Bullets tore into Morena’s belly and forehead like ravenous animals, her gore splattered onto David. Emma tried to follow Kevin’s example, but she was shot through the neck. Her hands touched her neck, ruby red with blood and she fell to the floor. Her blue eyes, wide with shock and fear, dulled and glazed over.

“Emma!” David shouted, his bullets found two men but they managed to keep shooting. He had only managed to shoot them in the arm and shoulder. David grunted, having taken three rounds. He prayed that Trent would remain in the bathroom. To ensure that he would, David took up guard in front of the door.

The wild gunfight destroyed plates, glasses, food and fluid went flying.

Cameron freaked out, saw the window hidden behind the tree and dashed for it. His intent was to go out the fire escape. The boy was cut down by a hail of ammunition. He landed amidst broken shards of ornaments and crushed presents. David saw red and made two headshots. The men crumbled instantly, their blood and gray matter plastered to the white paint on the wall. It made an eerie contrast.

Kevin yelled in pain, a gunshot went through his shoulder and another one entered his leg. Miraculously, Eleanor was not harmed, though she tried to wiggle free to see if she could help. “Stay put, Eleanor. That’s an order.” Kevin hissed. She stayed put.

The remaining man aimed and shot at David. Two rounds penetrated David’s side, but David’s very last bullet found a new home lodged in the last intruder’s chest. He joined his fellow assailants on the floor, blood flowing out along with his life. 

David shook and dropped the gun to the floor. He lacked the ability to truly understand the meaning of the destruction for a moment seemingly suspended in time. Then he saw the bodies of his ex-wife, his daughter and Cameron. Their lives ended like his mother and sister. Needlessly. He began to tremble harder and beheld Erik at the door, pale as snow. He hated Eric and he picked up the gun again. David pointed the gun toward Erik and pulled the trigger. Click. The gun, bereft of bullets, had no vengeance to give. He slid to the ground, strength and consciousness ebbing from him.  
Erik watched that, turned even more pale, then ran away.

“DAD!” Eleanor saw him retrieve the weapon, and before she could stop him, attempt to kill Erik. Then she soberly tried to assess what could be done with the fallen. She went to all of them. First Morena, then Emma. Cameron was last. There was not a sign of life in them. “They’re dead, Kevin. All of them are dead! Emma is dead!” Eleanor wailed, blood on her face, hands, clothes. Blood was spattered everywhere she looked. Blood dripped from the tree and the lights.

“Take care of Dad. He’s wounded.” Kevin said and tried to ground her before she drowned in panic. “I’ll see to myself. I’ve been shot but not badly. I’ll be alright. But he needs your help, stat.”  
That helped Eleanor to calm down and walk on shaky feet to her father. She almost slipped in a pool of her mother’s blood, but recovered. “Hey Dad. I’m going to look at you and see what I can do.” She found a medical kit in a nearby cupboard and pulled out what she would use. Mostly gauze.

He refused to respond, at first, but told her, “Don’t let Trent see this. Promise me.” Eyes were diminished by emotional and physical pain. She squeezed his hand reassuringly and he tried to smile at her.

“I promise.” She nodded over at Kevin, who went to the bathroom and talked soothingly to Trent through the door.

She counted six gunshot wounds, two to the side, two lightly grazed him, and a shot each in the arm and a leg. She knew it could have been worse, though one of the shots taken to the side concerned her. She took the gauze and tried to slow the bleeding. She hoped the ambulance would be here, that someone had taken notice of the shooting and called. Kevin, of a same mind as her, pulled out his thankfully undamaged cellphone and made the 911 call. He relayed the address and the operator told him that ambulances were on their way, as well as officers to secure the location. “Hurry, please. There’s an FBI agent down.” Kevin prayed that it would get them to respond in a timely fashion. 

“Let me out!” Trent howled. “I know something bad happened. Let me out! I want Dad! I want Mom!” He banged on the door, but Kevin’s bulk and weight kept his brother contained. He panicked, scared and anxious. He wanted to know what happened to everyone that mattered to him.

“Kiddo, you’ve got to be patient. I’ll let you out, but we have to wait until help gets here. OK?” Kevin’s complexion turned waxen due to blood loss but Eleanor was occupied with stabilizing their father. A noise caught Kevin’s attention and he said. “Sirens. I hear sirens. It won’t be too long now.”

Trent quieted down, but Kevin heard muffled sobs from behind the door. “We’re here. You’re not alone. It’s just not safe for you to come out.”

Eleanor listened to her father’s mumblings. He was trying to stay conscious. “Blood and gold on a field of green. Screaming…father’s screaming. Sister’s been gut shot, mother’s bleeding out.”   
Was he remembering wrong? Or was he remembering a different incident, Eleanor asked herself. She tested his pulse. It’s fairly strong. Dad is a resilient man and hard to kill, but he needs better medical attention. NOW.

“That’s how my mother and sister died, Eleanor. That’s why my father doesn’t know how to relate to family, and I understand now. I really understand. Why did it have to happen again? Why did I have to see my children shot and slaughtered?” Tears ran down his bloody face. “Why?” He gripped her hand.

She shifted her attention away from his face and focused on making sure he remained alive. “I don’t know, Dad. I don’t have any answers.” Eleanor began to sob alongside him; she ran out of fortitude. The ache of knowing her twin, brother, and mother were dead hit her, a tsunami of grief that overwhelmed and denied her relief. “I’m sorry that you lost your mom and sister.”

Hard footsteps echoed through the hall and she turned to look at a police officer who hesitated at the door. “Holy fucking Christ.” The man blanched as he could not quite comprehend what went on. Dead bodies on the floor, blood almost covering the entirety of the aforementioned floor, and hurt people attempting to make sense of a horrific massacre that could never make sense. Not in a million years.

His female partner peeked in the door. She was his rookie partner and, as of that day, never seen a truly gruesome crime scene. “I’ll call in more ambulances and keep nosy neighbors away.”

He nodded and proceeded to ‘clear’ the apartment. He asked why someone guarded the door, and David spoke up. “I don’t want my eight-year old son to see this atrocity. Would you?”

“No.” He introduced himself as Officer Peterson. He agreed with David that eight-year olds did not need to be exposed to this bloodbath. “The paramedics are on site; they just need to get the stretchers up here.” He made himself sound as reassuring as possible. The older man seemed to be in rough shape. The younger man needed some help, also. “Which one of you is the FBI agent?”

“I am. Badge number 432566. David Salvatore.” David said, weakly. “My son is in Navy SEALS. JAG needs to be involved.”

“Fuck.” Officer Peterson muttered. That would complicate things. He heard the rattling and the voices of paramedics at the door, anxious to get in. “Here comes help.” The medics had a hard time getting the stretchers past both the intruders and the deceased family members. They visibly winced at the carnage. “These men need to get to a hospital, pronto. I’ll take the lady and the boy in for a report.”

Eleanor watched helplessly as they loaded Kevin and David into the stretchers, wheeling them out as quickly as possible. It wasn’t long afterwards that the detectives and crime scene investigators showed up and did what they could, despite the scene being tampered with the medical extractions. “I’m not going to take a report here. I will at the station, but I need to get my little brother Trent and we need to leave.”

The detective agreed, and let her slip into the bathroom to talk to Trent.

“I heard shooting out there. Is everyone ok?” Trent asked, eyes reddened and voice hoarse. He noticed the smears of crimson on his sister, but did not ask about that.

“No.” Eleanor opted for the hard truth. Trent would find out anyway, so why delay the inevitable. “Mom, Emma and Cameron have been killed. Dad and Kevin are alright, but they had to go to the hospital. Trent, I’m going to pick you up and we’re going to leave for a police station. You have to swear to me to not take a glimpse around until I tell you it’s ok. Promise me? I’ll get you an ice cream if you do.”

“I promise.” Trent replied. He wanted out of here. So she scooped him up and he both shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against her shoulder.

She opened the door and walked carefully out of the apartment. It was hard to make it past the unseeing eyes of her mother and the shell of her sister. She tried not to think about Cameron. Eleanor hustled out of there before Trent could be tempted to open his eyes. She took a deep breath only when she reached the hall and the freedom it represented. Eleanor set him down and said he could open her eyes. They were joined by Officer Peterson and the detective who arranged to have them taken down to the precinct. Officer Peterson would drive them, and Detective Albright would conduct the interview.

“Let’s leave.” Eleanor entreated. “After the interview, I need to take care of Trent and maybe go to the hospital.”

 

# # #

~Name of LEO is David Salvatore. He and his family were assaulted in his apartment. It was a massacre in there. Three people were killed. Agent Salvatore and his son were taken to Sacred Mary Hospital in critical condition.~ 

Frank put his fist through a wall. His expression was that of murder most foul. He knew the backstabbing, conniving asshole that ordered the hit on them. Kingpin. He sent his fucking henchmen to kill my family. His mind told him to step back and do some intelligence gathering before jumping to conclusions.

The noise startled Rogue as the news settled in. “Oh my God, Frank.” Rogue blanched as the realization sunk in. She bit her lip. This seemed eerily like the Central Park incident. Whoever did this, did it on purpose. A message to Frank, using his own kin. She almost suspected Mystique; it smacked of her diabolical nature.

“Grab your gear, Lori. We’re going to gather intel.” He informed her. “I’d keep you out of this, but you’ll be able to get into places I can’t.”


	14. Chapter 14

Frank made a stop at a store that kept late hours, even on Christmas Eve. It was New York. There were always places that were open. The van lurched to a halt and the two cheerless people trudged into the business. The solitary clerk seemed joyless as well, opting to watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” before they came up with their purchases. He rang them up without a smile.

That was how Rogue felt. Joyless. Sure, the victims weren’t her family but they were David and Frank’s, and she hurt for them. 

He bought a poinsettia and a simple card. Back at the van, wrote a note on the card, sealed the envelope, then nestled it in the plant. “I’m sure there will be someone you can give this to at the hospital. Just say that it’s from David’s father. They’ll be thinking of,” Here his expression darkened, “Carlos, but he’ll know.” The idea wasn’t to give David a gift per se, but to give Rogue an excuse for hanging around the hospital and gather some information. He wanted to know how his son was doing. 

They stayed away until his name had been announced on the news, to make it less u

He set her up with a wire that fed audio into the battle van. She watched him make a few adjustments, then, satisfied, finished the short drive to where the remnants of the Salvatores were getting needed medical attention. Her guts were in a knot over worry for them and she fretted even worse over Frank. Even if he stayed away, people still got killed. It did not seem fair that whatever he did, people died who could get close to him.

“Ah’ll be cautious, Frank.” She looked at him and caught a haunted manifestation of his past. It twisted his handsome features into an expression of anguished determination, but only for a brief second before he put nearly impenetrable wall of his up. She embraced him, he resisted for a moment, then relaxed and let her. He gave her the faintest of squeezes. 

“Please.” He didn’t lecture her. Rogue’s humanity would serve her well in this place. Being a woman, especially a smart and pretty one, was an asset in this kind of situation. A hospital was completely beyond his depth, but Rogue would navigate it well. 

Rogue’s nose was numb from the bitter cold before she entered the hospital. The warm air hurt for an instant, as her nose rapidly unfroze, but she ignored it. She wandered around the vast facility until she found a staffed desk. She went up to the receptionist and told her that she had a poinsettia for David Salvatore from his father. The receptionist offered to take it, but was interrupted.  
The interruption in question was from a young woman, blonde and completely exhausted who stared a hole through her. She rested on a chair and a boy had fallen asleep on a sofa next to her. She kept a reassuring and protective hand on his shoulder. Some kind person—possibly a nurse--draped a blanket over him.

“I’m his daughter. Bring it over here. I want to ask you a question.” Hard. The woman’s voice was hard as stone. 

Rogue did not fault her for sounding so unfriendly. Under the circumstances, it was understandable. She smiled at David’s daughter as she took a seat near them. “Sure. Ask me anything you want.”

“Which grandfather is this from? Carlos or Francis?” Eleanor asked her bluntly. Giving plants wasn’t exactly Carlos’s style. Never had been. He was a sweet man, but not very sentimental. He also happened to be very ill right now. The doctors did not expect him to last another three weeks, if this news didn’t kill him outright.

Eleanor discerned the TV outlets had already gleefully plastered her father’s name and the knowledge he, a FBI agent, had been shot all over town. So she knew it was possible her other grandfather would know. In fact, she deliberately sought out this reception area to steer clear of news reporters and law enforcement officers of all varieties. She didn’t want to talk to any of them, especially the so called journalists. Her family’s tragedy was not tabloid fodder and she opted to forego participating in the media circus. Anyone trying to get her to talk was liable to get a punch in the nose. Well, not really, but she could imagine doing it.

She sure doesn’t waste any time. Ah like that. “From Francis. He regrets not being here in person, but believe me, he has his reasons.” Rogue realized that she forgot to introduce herself and sought to remedy that. “What’s your name? People like to call me Lori.”

“Eleanor Salvatore.” Eleanor sighed, replaying in her mind what her father told her about him. “I suppose he does. I can’t blame him.” She studied Rogue’s face and discovered genuine sympathy.

“Do you mind if Ah ask you what happened? Ah know that you probably told the cops a billion times, and feel free to say no, but Ah think Francis would like to get the facts on exactly what transpired at the apartment.” Rogue hated to ask for more information, but it was important to try to help Frank suss out the person or people responsible.

Eleanor slowly related the story and stopped only to stifle a sob when she mentioned who had perished in the extremely unwarranted attack. “Erik Lovell. It’s all his fault. He’s the one that let the gunmen in. Why he did he do it? I have no idea. Dad’s an FBI agent. He was involved in a major bust last week. Maybe some dirty bastard bribed him?” Eleanor watched her brother squirm in his sleep. She ruffled his hair affectionately. 

Rogue must have turned green and Eleanor caught that expression. “That’s how I feel about the whole situation, Lori.” She saw a surgeon in full scrubs come down the hall, smears of blood on his shirt. His demeanor was serious and both of the women were filled with foreboding.

“Miss Salvatore?” The doctor asked, lines of exhaustion written on his patrician face. A lock of silver hair threatened to emerge from the surgical cap he wore.

“That’s me.” Eleanor squeaked out. “Please tell me they’re alive. Please. I don’t think I can stand more bad news tonight.” Her heart pounded and her palms began to sweat. She rubbed them on her pants. Eleanor would run screaming into the concrete jungle if either her father or Kevin died.

“Both of them made it through surgery and are recovering. Your dad’s awake and he’d like to talk to you.” The surgeon was happy to give her some good tidings. A family massacre on Christmas Eve was too unfathomable for him to grasp and he had seen some truly evil results of horrific action in emergency surgery. He wished he could do more. “Kevin’s awake, too, but wants to be alone for a while. He’s feeling nauseous after the anesthetic. “

Eleanor lit up like a light bulb. “I’d love that. Mind if I bring Trent and a family associate?” She shook Trent awake and he mumbled his dissent until she informed him that their dad pulled through. 

Trent perked up too then saw Rogue, who smiled at him. He clung to his sister, unsure of the newcomer. His solemn eyes held as much sorrow as tombstones.

A child’s eyes should not hold that kind of sadness. Rogue thought and hunkered down to give a word or two of comfort on his level. She told him of her regret and that got her a muffled, “Thank you, lady.” 

Rogue loved children and hoped to have one or two of her own someday. Then, she pulled herself back to reality. No children for me. Never. Not with the life Ah live. The notion filled her with melancholia, but she fought and buried it. No good could come of it.

“No problem. You’ll only have about ten minutes to visit with him. He needs to recuperate, but he said he needed to see you.” The surgeon led the way to the recovery room, though he took them the longer way to avoid unnecessary entanglements with annoying blood sucking ticks also known as the press. 

Eleanor insisted on privacy, not only for herself, but her little brother. She especially did not want the media to devastate him with details of the crime scene or ask him how he felt. Eleanor would tell him what happened later on. Not now, not in public. It was her duty to protect him until their father could do so again and she would, even against the world. The hospital staff did what they could to accommodate her reasonable requests.

Rogue memorized the room number: 453. She saw David lying there, frail despite his size, hooked up to monitors and Iv’s. His eyes were glazed over with the effects of pain medication. “Eleanor, Trent.” His voice quavered, whether it was from the drugs or emotion Rogue couldn’t say. She stared at her feet to give the three of them a moment alone.

“Lori? Is that you?” He asked, happy to see her there. He knew who exactly had sent her and was thankful for the thought.

“Yup. Lil’ ol me. Ah even brought you a plant. It’s actually from you know who, but we hoped it would show you that we thought about you in your time of need.” She put the potted plant near him. Rogue didn’t know what else to say. Saying sorry was so very inadequate and she refused to make him upset when he least could afford it.

“Thank you. Tell him that I understand now but I won’t go down his path.” David said slowly. He was so thirsty, but the doctors informed him no water for a period of time. He licked his dry lips.

Rogue asked, “Do you have a picture of Erik Lovell?”

Eleanor popped up with an answer. “Yeah, I do.” She excavated through her purse until she found her cellphone. It was one of the nice expensive smartphones. “I didn’t mean to take one, always hated the son of a bitch, but he photobombed a picture I took of Mom and Kevin.”

Rogue took hers out as well and asked if she could take a picture. Eleanor assented, mostly because it was important to get his picture out to other people. She was pretty sure the FBI was on his ass. Law enforcement seemed to be very unwavering when it came to arresting people who assaulted or otherwise set up officers to get maimed or killed.

She sent it in a text message to Frank while Eleanor and Trent visited with their father. It wasn’t the best, but the features were clear enough to be able to make positive identification. Rogue began to sense that she was intruding on an intimate family scene. Frank should be here, not me. Frank should be here comforting David. Ah’m just a waif, a leaf floating on the wind of life.

David saw Rogue’s increasing discomfort and waved her over. “Take care of the old man for me. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to leave the hospital. A month, at least.” 

“If by take care, you mean be a pain in his backside, you got it!” Rogue took and squeezed his hand. He so very nearly was murdered. For a second time in one life. That sobered her and she kept quiet. The room went tranquil for a long moment. A nurse came through the door and, in the manner only a formidable medical professional was capable of, informed them that their ten minutes were up and David was told to get some sleep. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He murmured, eyes already beginning to shut. But he dug in deep and managed to perk up long enough to tell his children, “I love you. Go get some rest for yourselves. See you tomorrow.”

Rogue closed her eyes, sharply jealous of Eleanor who had a father and family that deeply loved her. Then she kicked herself in the ass, metaphorically speaking. There’s a price to pay for getting close to people. The hurt they cause when—not if—they leave you is that price. That gave her another insight to Frank’s character and a deeper understanding of why he had a coldness about him. 

“It was nice to meet you, Lori. Trent and I really would like to get acquainted with Francis.” Eleanor said, as they walked back toward the main lobby. Eleanor was going to get another hotel room for her and Trent, after a brief stop at their other hotel. Accompanied by a police officer, of course. Eleanor thought that she would give the officer a call in a few minutes.

Rogue returned the sentiment, gave Eleanor her number, then went back to the van. 

Frank opened the door and let her inside. “Did a good job.” He heard everything and wasn’t too keen when Eleanor mentioned that David had given him 

“Ah feel horrible for them,” She said as she claimed shotgun. “They’re hurting so much. Eleanor’s a tough cookie, Ah think she’ll be ok, but Ah’m not sure about David. Ah couldn’t think of what to say that wasn’t pandering or thoughtless.”

Frank heard the whole conversation and considered it fortunate that David was a good shot. The situation could have been worse, but it’s unseemly to say that now, as if it diminished the lives of the others. “It’s a hard call to make.” He was caught between regret and a burning anger. 

“I’ll take you back to the safe house, then I’m going after Erik. Alone because what I plan to do with him is something you should not see.” Anger was beginning to win out in Frank. There was no need to put Rogue through what would happen tonight, she’d done a good job getting in the hospital and appealing to the very injured Salvatore survivors.

“No arguments?” The van, having weaved in and out of traffic, neared its destination.

Rogue changed her mind. Originally, she was going to let him go off and do whatever it was he did best. “Actually, Ah am gonna argue. First, we need to find out whether or not the police have him. Let’s face it: the man has the FBI and the military after his sorry ass. You are gonna need my help, Frank. And if you don’t let me be a partner, “She stressed that word, “then Ah’ll tag along anyway.”

“I’m not planning on having tea with him, Rogue.” Frank warned. “What I’m going to do with him will be messy and drawn out.”

“Ah’m a big girl, Frank. Ah can hold my own and Ah’ve proven that.” Rogue said, with a fiery glint in her eye. “He’s an evil man, Frank, and Ah want to be a part of helpin’ bring him down. Consider it a training exercise.” 

“We’ll know by the end of the night if you can handle it.” He said. Maybe she’d come in handy, she had before. Part of him did not want to expose her to the darker side of vengeance, but if she thought she had the ability to handle it, far be it from him to debate with Rogue. The stakes were high, though, failure was not an option for him. He needed to interrogate Erik. The whole situation did not seem right.

It had been on his mind just to go to another safe house and load up. That particular safe house had more in the way of inventory, more variety in both lethal and non-lethal methods of subduing an opponent, and so he took them there instead. Once inside, he turned on the scanner he always kept with him. 

To her, all the safe houses seemed to have the same basic layout. Armory, small (very small) living space and a bulletin board that he used to lay out people of interest, intel, and a map. Places soon to be assaulted had a red pin stuck in. Black pins decorated the locations he paid a visit to, like Krampus. She saw ten pictures of men who appeared to have nothing in them. Nothing but greed and malice. She wanted to vomit after she read ‘CANNIBAL’ by the name of Hector Largo.

She realized she was wasting time and went to the armory. She nosed around until she found proper gear. She hesitated over the selection of a hand gun. Should Ah or shouldn’t Ah? He let her choose what accoutrements fit her style. “No lethal force. Remember, there’s the possibility we could have to deal with LEO. Maybe officers from JAG; the SEALs do not take kindly to one of their own being shot. I doubt they’d be on the team sent to retrieve Erik, but you never know.” He watched as she chose mace, a Taser and zip ties. She opted not to pick up the gun, and opted to survive by ingenuity, improvisational skills, and solid CQC training. 

Good girl, Frank thought. She’s making good decisions. Better not to bring a gun. Why take the chance of hurting an undeserving person? The notion of her partnering up with him on this vital mission did not seem such a bad idea.

The scanner buzzed into life. ~Suspect Erik Lovell was spotted in the Hotel Waldorf Astoria under an assumed name. We’re sending in a SWAT team and the FBI is supporting our efforts with men of their own. This son of a bitch is going to be in a world of hurt when we arrest him.~ The voice of the officer sounded smug and brutal.  
He selected a device that emitted a high pitched sound that irritated him, but would drive Red up the wall and into Crazy Town. He went with pepper spray. He passed over the Taser because Rogue had that area covered. 

“What’s that?” Rogue asked, and pointed toward the device. He contemplated it a moment then handed it to her. His hands had to be free in case he needed to duke it out with the Choir Boy.

“This is for a friend of mine who likes to show up at awkward moments. It’ll ruin his fun for a while. It won’t permanently hurt him, but it’ll get him outta my way.” Frank said.

Rogue raised an auburn eyebrow but kept her clever remark to herself. There was a time for being witty. This was not one of those moments. Discretion was not only the better part of valor; it was the better part of not getting smacked upside the head by her partner in vigilantism. She focused on the task at hand and geared up. She struggled into her vest and strapped her tools to her side. He did the same. He knew time was of the essence, and although they moved quickly, it wasn’t fast enough for Frank. “Are we going to take the police walkie talkies or just use our abbreviated hand gestures?”

“Hand gestures. I don’t want to risk them hearing us.” But he had a thought and grabbed a handset anyway. He tossed one of them to her. “However, we might be able to use them to listen on their movements.”

She tucked it away. “Ah wish we had more time to make a plan.”

“Well, we don’t and we’re wasting time. Let’s go.” Frank grabbed the scanner and shoved it in the car. Rogue joined him before he left without her. The van roared to life and off to the Hotel.

# # # 

David came awake in the middle of the night, sweat on his brow and hands gripping the sheets. Bad dreams tormented him, old images merging with new, Maria dying with his children. The bright colors of Christmas mixing with those of a happy spring day. Laughter combined with death shrieks. His father gunned down, leaving David unaided. Desolation ruled the nightmare.

The nurse on duty came into the room, worry on her face. Her name tag said Claire. Her dark hair was pinned back and she looked stern yet caring. Her brown eyes were expressive and penetrating. “Are you ok? I heard you screaming from the nurses’ station.” It was the kind of primal noise that came from deep inside, as if he were set on fire. Claire was horrified by the sound. She attended to his monitors, checked his vitals and patted his hand in reassurance. 

She, like many of her colleagues in the trauma ward, had witnessed too much violence. She gave everyone who walked through her doors the same level of care, but was more sympathetic to victims like David who did not deserve to be shot or stabbed.

“No.” was all that came out of David’s mouth, unable at the moment to appreciate the fact that someone other than his children cared about his welfare. He tried to lift a glass of water to his mouth, but he shook so hard that the liquid spilled out. 

Claire helped him, quietly knowing that he resented needing help, and held the glass to his lips while he took in some water. When he was done, she asked if he wanted anything at all.

“No.” He repeated, hesitated, and added to be polite. “But thank you, Claire.” She stayed for a moment, then went back to the station. He stared at the ceiling until he knew she was there. He wanted to be by himself. Bored and in pain, he saw what appeared to be a card buried within the poinsettia plant. Even though he shook terribly, he fished it out and opened it. The card was plain, but he opened it to read:

YOU DIDN’T FAIL THEM. The words were written in a bold and forceful style.

Somehow, those words were exactly what he needed to know in that moment. He closed his eyes, the burning sting of tears threatening to sear their way down his cheeks.


	15. Chapter 15

The two of them stood on a fire escape, as he finished making hasty plans. He silently agreed with Rogue when she made her point about the lack of a quality plan, but sometimes one had to improvise in life. Frank turned on the walkie talkie, switching the frequencies until the low voices of what were assumed to be the SWAT team poured out.

~…suspect Lovell is in room 855, floor eight. Everyone moving into position? ~

~Yes, all the men are in position. Just awaiting word to proceed with forcible extraction. ~

~Don’t move in just yet. We need additional confirmation and permission to take action. ~

We’re just in the nick of time. Rogue thought with relief. And they gave us the exact position. Merry Christmas to us. She watched him put a mask on, pleased he decided to keep his youth a secret and now his face would be his mask in public. He pointed toward his belt. He’d found a stun grenade in the van and absorbed it into his arsenal.

“The plan is,” on his phone, Frank pulled up a map of the hotel that the miscreant was confirmed to be on. “we go down two level, you approach from the south, I’ll approach from the north and I’ll toss the flashbang. While they’re incapacitated, we’ll take them down. Try not to kick them in the balls.”

“Eh. Ah’m sure they’re wearing cups.” She wasn’t fond of hurting law enforcement, but the warning was noted. She watched him until he gave the gesture to move out.

“Form on me.” He mumbled and they eased like whispers through the window and down the halls to the stair wells. An eerie quiet ruled the halls, a ruthless betrayer of noise. The management must have cleared out this floor as a precaution. Frank slowed and almost oozed down the stairs. Stairwells were excellent at amplifying clamor; so additional caution was necessary. His fingers curled around the grenade. He opened the door. He pointed south and she nodded, departing in that direction.

He took the opposite way, heavy feet padding on the sumptuous carpet. The decorations were rich and ostentatious and he knew he was out of his element. He was a hard man, used to hard, cold living with the bare minimums for habitation. This vulgar display of wealth seemed obscene. He kept his focus on the task at hand; snatching a suspect from under the nose of the police. He’d pulled off that Houdini trick before, but the police were getting smarter and better trained. Also, better armed like the military, but that was another concerning thought for another day.  
Frank heard the muffled grunts and the—here he had to search for a word to describe the energy the police were exuding—barely contained wanton desire to smash this asshole into the ground. That urgency assailed his survival sense. That energy is a distraction, and a good one at that. He counted six of them. Three each. Rogue’s head popped up from around a corner. She apparently went a little slower, a little more careful. Experience in stealth will give her more confidence. Fury will school her further in that.

He waited. He studied the surrounding before committing the both of them to what would be a short battle. It could go either way, really. Either the police would stomp the hell out of them, or Frank and Rogue would beat the snot out of them.

One gesture of a hand, and the flashbang was thrown. Rogue ducked her head before the stun grenade took effect. The police cursed, a man cried “What the hell…” The smack and thud of blows exchanged.

Rogue flew into action, bull rushing an officer larger than she. She slammed him into the wall, using her momentum and the full weight of her slim body. He tried to push her off but she went under his reach and kidney punched him, right where his armor was the weakest. She followed up with a knee to the groin. Frank said no kicks, didn’t mention knees to the groin. He went down in a flash, moaning. She seized the opportunity to zip tie him. She was sorry to have to do it, but he’d be freed eventually.

Another one spotted her, and made a grab for her vest. She ducked then quite deliberately stepped on his toes. The man howled and she followed up with a punch to his nose, being careful about the amount of strength she put behind her blow. It worked. Blood gushed and he wheezed for the barest second, but that gave her enough time to flip him hard onto hard surface of the hotel lobby. She quickly put her knee on his neck and fastened his hands behind him.

While she was doing that, the other cops paid attention to Frank. He was larger and more threatening, and therefore deemed a greater immediate danger. The Punisher did not believe in fancy martial art moves, they were wasteful of time and energy. But his CQC style—similar to Krav Maga--was practical, brutal and very effective. Two of them lunged at him at once. He gripped one by the throat and hurled him into his fellow officer, hard enough to set the men on their asses in a tangle of limbs and bad words. Frank turned his gaze to an officer who pulled out a knife, intent on stabbing Frank. Interestingly, it was a Ka-Bar knife. Frank ventured the man was a former Marine and regretted having to clean the floor with him. 

But Rogue did him a favor and took the choice away from him. Rogue brought out her Taser and fired at the officer’s leg. The barbs penetrated his pants and skin. He stiffened as the electricity surged into him. Rogue saw to him and the other men, restraining them before they could rise to their feet and make trouble.

That left one solitary officer, a smaller man. He glanced at the two of them and decided to go for Rogue, since she was smaller and seemingly more vulnerable. He found out he was mistaken. She turned at the last second and she grabbed his vest. However, he socked her in the eye and she saw stars for a moment. Out of instinct, she kicked his knee and raked her nails across his face. He yelped, then Frank tapped him on the back of his head. The man was going to be out of it for quite some time.

“You’re going to have a hell of a shiner,” He told her as he examined her face. 

Rogue shrugged, coldly practical. “That’s what Ah signed up for; getting shiners on a regular basis. Let’s get the man and vamoose. Ah sense reinforcements on their way.”

He kicked down the door on the third try. A quick glance at the room betrayed Erik’s location. Under the bed with one foot sticking out. Frank dragged him out, made sure it was indeed Erik Lovell, pulled out a syringe then administered some type of drug as Erik resisted a vigilante’s arrest. “It’s a paralyzing agent. Fast-acting. Should help in transporting him.”

“Who are you?” Erik whispered, terrified out of his mind.

Frank leaned down and said, “The Punisher. And yes, I’ve heard about what you did to your own wife and step-kids. That’s why I’m here.” The paralyzing agent had just taken effect or Erik would have screamed bloody murder as Frank hoisted him over his shoulder. “We’ll go out the way we came.” 

Rogue followed him down the hallway and back up the stairwell, single file. They made better time since stealth wasn’t necessary. Their boots thudded on the stairs as they headed up. Out and through the point of entry, and they were almost free. But almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, as the old adage proclaimed.

A leather clad figure stood on the fire escape, his horns silhouetted against the illumination of a street lamp. His baton was out, hanging loosely by his leg but ready for action. He hesitated for a second to figure out what to say. “Frank, I know that what he did was bad, horrible even, but I can’t let you do what you’re going to do with him. He needs to face true justice in a court of law.” 

“Fuck off, Red. This doesn’t concern you. This is a private matter.” Frank said, in an unfriendly tone that brooked no notion of opposition. 

Rogue shifted slightly and Daredevil instantly caught her heartbeat, her smell, her vitality. “Frank, there’s something you haven’t told me. Looks like you’ve got a girlfriend. Or a sidekick.” Matt liked to devil Frank every bit as much as the older man liked to piss him off. Daredevil could tell much about her from his sense. Young, strong, and as of right now glaring a hole through him.

“She’s a partner, ass clown, not a sidekick.” Frank stated. “If you don’t get out of our way…I’ll make you and you won’t enjoy it.”

“You go another way; Ah’ll keep Double D here occupied. Ah’ll catch up later.” Rogue whispered quietly. She knew her way around the city. She’d meet up where it was safe and warm. In addition, she had the feeling that whatever he was going to do to Erik, he really wanted to do it alone. 

“Watch out for his right hook, it’s a doozy.” Then he ducked back in the building to go another way. 

Rogue took the offensive to keep Daredevil occupied. She lunged at Daredevil, catching him off guard and they tumbled down a few steps of the fire escape. Punches were thrown, and Rogue had to admit that Frank was right. Daredevil threw a blow like no one’s business. But she got in a few good licks too, as they fought on the narrow escape. A few more blows taught her that Daredevil was by far the superior hand-to-hand fighter. Tenacity, she discovered ruefully, would only get her so far. She landed on her ass after the last fist landed on her chin. Her face would be sore, but he judged his strength correctly enough not to break her jawbone. She kicked his shinbone and he yelled. It gave her time to get up. All Ah have to do is give Frank a minute or two more. Ah can’t let Double D catch him.

“Out of my way, lady. If you care about Frank, you wouldn’t let him do this.” Daredevil warned, and moved as if he were going to run past her.

She scoffed out right at that statement. “He is what he is. He does what he’s meant to do. It’s his nature, in his blood. Ah can’t and won’t stop that. So don’t tell me how to handle my friend. Ah don’t handle him.” Her hand fumbled in a pocket for the device. Slick plastic slid between her fingers and she pressed the button. A sharp piercing noise filled the space between them. Rogue wanted to puke, but the annoying noise emerging from the device devastated Daredevil. He shrieked, held his head flanked by his hands and tumbled backward, over the railing.

Rogue’s eyes widened. They were only a story above ground now, but the fall still could have seriously harmed him. She peered over the side and he lay sprawled in a dumpster full of cardboard boxes. She breathed a prayer of relief and jumped down to check on him.

He groaned, but seemed fine. He just had the wind knocked out of him. Rogue helped him out and let him lean against the wall for support. “Ah apologize. Ah didn’t know the loud noise would affect you quite like that. And Ah didn’t know you’d do a backward swan dive. Ah wasn’t trying to kill you.” Daredevil was a good guy, and one simply did not kill the good guys.

“It’s ok. I’ll be ok. Just don’t turn that thing on again.” He sighed. Frank was long gone with his victim, doing who knew what. In reality, Matt did not want to find out. He was sure, however, that Erik’s fate would be horrible.

“But what about you? How’d a woman like you end up with him? And, for that matter, why does he let you hang around him? He’s not a very friendly man, or nice either.” Daredevil hated that gadget in Rogue’s hand. He thought about seizing it, but she tucked it away. His curiosity about her went up a notch every second that went past. Whether or not, she’d satisfy that curiosity was in question.

“He saved me from hell, almost literally. As for why he lets me tag along, well, when you go through hell, it changes you indelibly and you have to find a way to live with those changes. There’s nothing free in this life, Double D, not even survival. He understood that.” Rogue thoughtfully said.

Daredevil studied her with all his senses. Young, but strong. Maybe not so wise if she were partners with the Punisher—God knew the few partners Frank Castle had in his career as a vigilante did not live long lives—but she seemed smart and tough enough. And her heart beat faster when she spoke of him; she loved him. He recognized that all too familiar rush and smiled to himself. He’s going to get bit in the ass by life. Hope he enjoys that. Then, suddenly abashed, he hoped Rogue would not get hurt in the process. Romances worked out for Frank, not that the older man had many of them, much like they did for Matt. By that, Matt meant they tended to end rather tragically. 

“If you need a name to call me by, call me Rogue.” She helped him out of the dumpster.

“Thank you, Rogue.” He was about to say something else when he heard a bolt being shifted into place. He shoved them out of the path of a high caliber bullet. It lodged in the wall where Rogue’s head had been. His quick reaction had saved her.

Rogue looked around and saw a blue figure on the rooftop holding a rifle. “Double D, that’s Mystique! She’s over on the building across the street.” Without thinking of the possible repercussions, she dashed over to the building and began to climb. All she thought of was putting her hands around that blue neck and squeezing until Mystique was purple. Daredevil, outraged at being shot at, followed Rogue, moving as light as a butterfly and able to reach the top faster than she could.

# # #

My plan to flush him out did its job. It worked, like I knew it had to. If I kill him, then I’ll get some rep of my own and make all of the underground fear me. That was the plan, at any rate. Plus, Wilson Fisk would admire her cunning.

Mystique set up a sniper spot where she thought would be the most strategic place for a good infiltration point and hoped Frank was of the same mind. After about ten minutes, she was awarded with the sight of the two of them briefly hesitating before ducking into the hotel. Two birds, one shot, Raven thought as she double checked her rifle, clicked off the safety, and peered through the scope. I was hoping for just Frank, but I’ll kill Rogue too and tie up that loose end. 

She waited for a few moments and saw a man dressed in a ridiculous leather outfit. The mask looked like it had two fully erect nipples on the top. That must be Daredevil. She had a prime shot at his back, but decided to see how the action between the duo and the red vigilante would play out. She was rewarded with Frank and Rogue popping back out. A few words were bandied about, and Frank ducked back in, possibly to find another exit.

Amused, she watched Rogue and Daredevil begin to spar. Girl has some skill, but he’s much better. He’s holding back, though. He either doesn’t like hitting women—what an idiot—or he doesn’t want to make Frank mad at him later. S

She followed them as they made their way down the fire escape. Rogue triggered a small gizmo and Raven almost laughed as Daredevil tumbled down into a dumpster. She watched them make small talk--while he rested up for a half hour, maybe--and got bored of it. It was when they were still that she fired her rifle.

# # #

Frank stopped the van at the small and well secured location he planned to take Mystique. I still can. Maybe I should consider this a test. He opened the back and pulled out Erik Lovell, who by this time, was well secured with duct tape. That shit held everything together. The man’s eyes held terror. Frank liked that, could work with that. He situated Erik uncomfortably onto his shoulder and went into the isolated structure for some one-on-one time. There were some questions that needed to be answered.

He dropped him down on the table harshly, a movement intended to hurt and startle the man. It worked. Frank watched as the agent lost its effect and Erik was able to talk again.

“I’ll … I’ll pay anything if you’ll let me go.” Erik stammered, thinking of the $50,000 in his hotel. He sweated as the skull face mask peered down at him with not a hint of the human behind it.

“The only currency that I want from you is information and your life. You’re not getting out of this situation. You betrayed your wife. You betrayed your step-children. That will not go unpunished. However, you might make your death go a little easier by giving me any information you have on the person who was really responsible for this atrocity. Keep this in mind, I will know if you’re telling the truth. If you aren’t, then I’ll really make it painful for you.” He held up a toothpick and a small, everyday hammer.

Erik blinked in horror, not quite believing it until Frank hammered the toothpick under his fingernail. Erik screamed but was unable to twist free. Frank rammed another toothpick into a separate nail, just so Erik knew Frank was being absolutely serious. Erik had seriously pissed off the wrong man.

It’s a good thing Rogue isn’t here. No one needs to be witness to this.

“In Vietnam, they used to do this to American POW’s. Why? Sometimes for fun. Sometimes for information.” Frank’s gravelly voice, cool and detached, echoed in the concrete room. “They actually used bamboo shoots, but I figured toothpicks would work just fine. Do you have anything to tell me now?”

Erik, by this time, was crying, fingers beginning to throb and ache. Blood streamed down from the fingertips to create small crimson lakes on the table. “I don’t know his name, but I was approached by a man on the phone. I gave him the whereabouts on where David lived, we met up and I let his goons into the apartment building. That’s all!”

“I know that’s what you did,” Frank snapped. He inserted another toothpick and slammed it in. Frank was awarded with another scream. “Tell me what he looked like, give me details I can use.” He decided to shatter Erik’s pinky with the aforementioned household instrument.

Erik blabbed almost incoherently, “Large man…your height, maybe, but fat. Really fat. Dressed in classy clothes. Thought I saw a diamond tie pin in…his cravat. Wouldn’t tell me his name. I swear. Please…please don’t kill me. We can work something out.”

Frank stared at him for several long, long moments before he decided that Erik told the truth. He didn’t care to ask why Erik betrayed them for money. That fact was not important to him or necessary for his purpose. All he saw when reflecting upon Erik was that he deserved punishment, and that was what Erik would receive this year for Christmas. Rogue may not have brought a gun, but he did. He pulled it out of his holster.

“I hate people like you. You don’t deserve to see another Christmas.” Frank said before he pulled the trigger and gave a bullet a new home in Erik’s cranium. The man twitched for a few moments, then Frank lifted him up and slid him into the vat. It would take approximately a day for him to become sludge. Then Frank could clean out the container, pack liquid Erik in an appropriate barrel, then prepare it for its true target.

He mulled over what Erik told him. Frank believed him, but the taste of the truth seemed off to him. Why would Kingpin warn me before launching an attack on David? If that was his intent, he’d have just done it and not sent a message through David. It did not add up for Frank. Sure, the Kingpin had ambushed people before, and he was capable of great violence, but his methods were just a tad different. 

Unless it wasn’t Wilson Fisk. It was someone impersonating him. He had an inkling of whom that might be, but no proof. Just a gut instinct—and he almost always listened to that finely honed instinct. Which meant that this whole incident could be a way to lure me out of hiding—get me upset, disorient me then make her move. I wonder who her true target is. It’s either me or Rogue. Again, his instinct kicked in and quickly left the structure and headed back to the hotel.

# # #

Rogue grunted as she reached the summit of the building with Daredevil just ahead of her. A loud bang was heard as a round was released in too close of her proximity for comfort. Rogue just carried on, but sought cover as soon as possible. Daredevil went after Raven, not afraid of her in the least. Rogue shook her head in disapproval. He should be. He should be very afraid of her. Now she wished she brought at the minimum her handgun, instead of leaving it at the safe house. She eased around the corner to see Raven kick him in the face, sending him to the roof. He landed hard on an exposed metal vent, and he stifled a yelp of pain. She leapt on him, not giving him a moment’s mercy.

The young woman opted to go in zero guns blazing. No guts, no glory. Right? She couldn’t let Daredevil get hurt. Yes, Frank was right about him being a bleeding heart vigilante who was mistaken about the redemption of some people—BUT she didn’t want him to be killed. Least of all by Raven Darkholme. She wondered, briefly, just what kind of relationship he and Frank had. Friends? No. Enemies? Not quite. Too much respect going on between them. Frenemies sounded about right.

“Get the hell away from him, you blue skinned traitorous bitch!” Rogue charged her, keeping an eye on Raven, who shot again at her. Rogue dived in time to just narrowly avoid taking a bullet. “Ah’m gonna gut ya from stem to stern!” She did, happily enough, remember to bring along her knife and withdrew it from her boot sheath. 

Rogue stabbed at Mystique, who kept warping her body around the blade. Her desperate action gave Daredevil time to recuperate and begin wailing on Mystique. Mystique seized Rogue by her hair and threw her former foster daughter to hard tarred roof even as Daredevil rained boxer’s punches down on her. Rogue seethed as she tried to catch her breath. 

# # #

Frank listened to the scanner while in the van and knew just who must have fired that shot. She’s after Rogue, probably couldn’t let her be. According to her, I bet, no one walks away from her. Raven’s weakness is her pride—as it often is with sociopaths like her. He drove like a fiend on the streets of NYC, obsessed with keeping Rogue and the rest of humanity safe as well as putting an end to that evil subhuman. He parked abruptly next to the building where a dispatcher said the shot originated from. 

He searched around in the van until he located his grenade launcher preloaded with acid rounds. Frank always had a contingency plan for when he knew his primary one wasn’t feasible. In this case, he could not bring the acid vat to Mystique—he doubted he’d have the time or opportunity to haul her back for her justly deserved round of punishment but he would bring the acid to her. Turn this into an opportunity for him, instead of her. Locked and loaded, he heard the police announce another shot had been reported. He thought he saw a glimpse of red and a flash of black being tossed aside as if it were a rag.

He wasted not a second more, hauled himself up the fire escape, the launcher strapped to his back. Frank kept to the shadows as much as possible and picked the best location in which to launch the attack. I’ll have to be very cautious. I don’t want to hurt Lamedevil or Lori. He steadied himself and waited for the perfect moment when Raven knocked them both down.

Frank took aim and pulled the trigger. The acid round hit her. The result was instantaneous, the acid ate into her flesh and he sent another round, this time in her center mass. She gurgled, stumbled and started to fall apart. The acid continued to turn her into a puddle of blue with chunks of bone and a glob that could have been an eye. He sent the final round to her head, which didn’t explode so much as unexpectedly ooze. He did not believe in such a thing as overkill. Better to make certain of a kill than to be sloppy and be haunted by that mistake later on.

Daredevil tried to comprehend what went on. “You didn’t have to kill her, jackass!”

“He most certainly did, Double D.” Rogue retorted with her normal sass.

“Stop calling me that, Rogue.” He told her, irate with her annoying habit of being flippant. Frank was irritating enough with his altar boys and Irish and Lamedevil ‘endearments’, he didn’t need another sarcastic vigilante on his case.

“Would you rather Ah call you Big Boobs?” she rejoined. “Look, O Horned one. She was a bad person. She couldn’t be contained, only put out of our misery. Ah, for one, am relieved that she won’t be a menace to ordinary people.” Rogue entreated Daredevil. 

Daredevil just glared at the two of them. They were a match made in Perdition. “She, like all of your victims, deserved a chance of redemption. And you took that away from her.”

Frank did not feel like fucking around; he was tired, angry, and deep inside, mourning the loss of his grandchildren whom he would never meet. He just made the world at large safer, and all Matt Murdock could think about was the redemption of a sociopath. “She won’t be coming back to try and kill my son or his children again, ass wipe.” He began to go back to the van. He needed rest.

“And how will you sleep tonight, Rogue?” Daredevil asked.

“Ah’ll sleep very well.” She turned and followed Frank. “See ya around, Double D.”


	16. Chapter 16

I hate hospitals. I hate the food. I hate the sterile, cold walls. Most of all, I hate being at the mercy of other people. David stared at the ceiling. Today was the funeral for Morena, Cameron and Emma. He was not able to be medically released and he fumed about it. Kevin, less injured than he, was able to go as long as he came back to the hospital. They wanted to keep him around for a few more days to make sure he’d be alright. The SEALs delayed his deployment until Kevin underwent a physical assessment to determine if there was going to be permanent damage.

Part of him prayed that there would be a limp or something non-life threatening so that Kevin would receive a medical discharge. Then there was the other side that hated feeling like he wanted his son to be handicapped for essentially a very selfish reason. David was, in two words, understandably conflicted. And then there was Eleanor, still determined to be—in her own terminology—the best damn Marine possible. David wondered if Frank would talk some sense into her, but if Kevin couldn’t, David doubted she’d listen to Frank. He also speculated why she ran even faster toward potential bodily harm rather than away from it. Didn’t she get shot at enough in the apartment? Why does she feel the need to dash headlong into danger?

The FBI and NYPD seethed that Erik Lovell had been snatched right in front of their noses. JAG? And the SEALS? He overheard a snippet of conversation from Kevin’s CO in the hall last night, and Lt. Colonel Sutter approved, unofficially, of course. Then again, the SEALS were known to wear the Punisher patch on the sleeves of their battle dress. Justice provided by one of their own. Frank Castle wasn’t exactly a SEAL, but he did do some training alongside of them. Anyway, the SEALS were sufficiently impressive with him to consider him their own.

I should not know that. I’ve been too fascinated, okay, obsessed with him. Granted, he’s my father…but if I hadn’t persisted, if I hadn’t insisted, then Morena and the kids would be alive. Guilt filled his eyes with tears. My fault. Their deaths are my fault. 

A knock on the door announced the arrival of another unwelcome visitor. “Come in.” He weakly said, though he just wanted to become invisible. A ghost unable to be seen by the eyes of the living.

Angelo Martin walked in the door with a vase of flowers, which he set down on the table next to his bed. “I’m sorry to hear about….” He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Get out. Get out NOW.” David bellowed, and grabbed the vase. He tossed it at Angelo who barely dodged the throw.

“This …isn’t my fault. I’m not responsible for what..” Angelo went toppling to the floor, tackled by David who tore his IVs out in the successful attempt to kick his boss’s ass.

David roared as he pounded into Angelo, “Of course it’s your goddamn fault! Not all, but enough.” His sutures for his shoulder wound burst loose and he began to bleed. He punched him some more as about three security guards and Kevin’s visiting CO—who had just shown up to keep David occupied during the funeral—pulled David off.

“What happened here?” Claire asked, and gave both men a hard expression meant to cow them into obeying her. She shooed Lt. Colonel Sutter off. “You can see him in a moment.”

“David had a bad dream and thought I was a bad guy.” Angelo Martin lied smoothly. It was either prevaricate or tell her the whole convoluted truth, and he would make a bet with the Devil that David didn’t want the truth to be known. 

Angelo sported a swollen eye and a split lip, David thought with some satisfaction as Angelo proceeded to fib.

Claire didn’t quite buy that, though David was known amongst the nurses—it was even noted in his medical records—to have horrible dreams. However, something about how smoothly Mr. Martin said struck her the wrong way. Claire liked and knew people. On occasion, people made her want to choke them out, but she still liked humanity in general.

“It’s true.” He replied as Claire put him in bed and checked his shoulder. Blood trickled from it now, but she deemed it not severe enough to warrant extreme measures. She just needed to redo the stitches, which she was more than competent to do.

“You tore out the sutures!” Claire scolded, then went for gloves, a needle, and surgical thread. She washed up before donning the gloves with a crisp snap. “Stay still and don’t sass me. This is going to sting.”

“Yes ma’am.” David said, while glaring at Angelo. “Right now, I’m not in the mood for a visit from my boss. Give me a few days, Angelo.” As I figure out what the hell I want to do. I won’t work for the FBI anymore, that much I know. I can’t stand looking at his face. I keep wanting to punch it in. 

Angelo left and Claire cleaned him up. “You up for a visit from Sutter? Or do you want to be alone?”

“I don’t mind him coming in. I just….I just don’t want to end up talking shop with Martin.” Yeah, David thought, that’s it.

Claire emitted a halfhearted humph. “You’ve been having so many nightmares lately, David. The other nurses and I are worried about you. I’m not going to force you, but if you need a friendly ear, I’m here. 

“Thanks, I might take you up on that later.” David tried a smile but failed. “Might as well send in Sutter. He’s here to cheer me up and I want to show him that I appreciate the effort.”  
Claire finished putting his IV back in, cleaned him up and put him in a fresh gown. Then the nurse removed the bloodied gloves, washed her hands again, and opened the door. “Lt. Colonel, David says it’s OK to see him now.”

# # #

It snowed at the funeral, a surreal purity in sharp dissimilarity to the three black coffins, draped with white roses. The three coffins were being prepared to enter their final resting spot, a stately mausoleum highlighted with Greco-Roman touches. An anonymous donor told the funeral director to do whatever the family wanted and to spare no expense and so they opted for a semi private mausoleum that had room for all of them amongst those already entombed. Eleanor and Kevin oversaw the plans, as their father was in no shape either in mind or body to make those decisions. They chose it because the mausoleum was locked and private. Eleanor insisted upon it.  
The Catholic ceremony was strictly kept to immediate family and a few friends. The only exception was Matt Murdock and he was a fairly important person in the New York justice system. He had asked and both Eleanor and Kevin said yes. He told them that he met and respected their father and wanted to be there as support.

There was another person, from a distance, watching this all unfold. He was the anonymous donor for the funeral. The snow fell on his jet black hair as he watched the coffins being taken into the building, one by one. No David. He missed his own family’s funeral. He knew exactly how that felt, a sucker punch to the gut, a razor blade to the soul. But he did see Kevin and Eleanor, who tossed a protective arm over Trent. He studied them, searching for traces of his past in them. 

Kevin had the Castle genes, tall and broad and built for business. His blue eyes held sorrow and gentleness, no trace of wrath. Eleanor, on the other hand, had a motor in her. What that motor would drive her to do was anyone’s guess. Frank guessed that whoever wronged her just might regret pissing her off. She wasn’t like him, though, at least not yet. She had people to love and care for. He saw Trent cling to his sister’s leg, and Frank felt a pang of regret for the young boy. She ruffled his brown, curly hair with affection.

They’re good children, all of them. David did well at parenting. He backed away. He didn’t belong here, sharing in their private grief. It was enough that he laid eyes on them and saw that they were decent people. He was grateful that part of Maria lived on in the three grandchildren. Seemed odd to call Kevin that, as big as he was.

He left the cemetery and went home. There wasn’t much he could do now, other than wait for a decent time to visit David. If he even wanted visitors. Although not explicitly said, he knew David struggled. I’d be worried if he wasn’t struggling. Maybe I should show up anyway and give him a talk. He didn’t know what he could say to make the pain less, but perhaps just being there would help. 

# # #

David really didn’t blame this on his father. Only himself. In fact, he wished the old man would show up. Frank had been there, maybe he has something to say? Or maybe I just want him here so that I can talk with him. He had gotten word a few moments ago that Carlos passed away, they said the stress caused a fatal heart attack in his sleep. Another regret made. I should have forgiven him. I forgive him now, but it’s too late.

Claire came in with a bottle of pills in her hand. “You didn’t tell me you were on Zoloft.” She looked at him accusatory and with an edge in her tone. Her nurse voice, he dubbed it. “I happened to find out through your primary care physician when you signed that HIPPA form.”

“Why? What does it matter?” He asked, though he was familiar enough with the withdrawal symptoms of antidepressants to know she was going to kick his ass.

“What does it matter? It matters that you’re in withdrawal. All those nightmares, your tremors, and your mood swings? Yeah, that’s what going cold turkey does to you. This is not a good time for you to get off of them.” Claire said, exasperated. 

“I deserve this, Claire.”

Now, her temper flared. “Oh no, you do not get to wallow in this pity party, David. You have a young son that adores you and you will not let him see you all torn up like this. I know that you’ve been through hell and will continue to go through hell, but you need to man up.” She shoved the pills toward him. “If you want to stop taking them later, work with your doctor, but until then…please take them.”

David just sighed, grabbed the bottle and opened the lid. He slid a pill into his palm and swallowed it. He supposed Claire was right, but did not appreciate his child being used against him. I will hurt him if he continues to see me anxious and angry. I can’t let him suffer and perhaps become an anxiety riddled—or worse!—person. A visit to a good child therapist was in order, and maybe a specialist in grief counseling for him.

“Thanks, Claire. I needed someone to set me straight.”

“It’s ok. I understand, I do, but…” Claire drifted off.

“I was beginning to hurt not just myself, but Trent.” David finished. “And it’s your job to help people when you can, however you can.”

Claire smiled and he almost returned it. It came to him that Claire Temple was pretty, the kind of pretty that was sharp like a scalpel, but also very determined. “Bingo. Now, there’s a man in a trench coat that wants to make a social call, but only if you’re up to a visit.”

David resigned himself to another visitor. There had been a continuous flow ever since he was moved from the ICU and cleared for it. Cops, priests, and other assorted well-wishers or lookie loos. “Might as well. I’m just sitting here doing nothing but staring at news reports from CNN all day.” Sounds like Pops anyhow. Surprised that he didn’t come in through the window or through some other dramatic means.

“I’ll send him in.” Before she left, she filled his water and fluffed his pillow before slipping back to the visitor’s area to admit the newcomer.

It took David a moment to realize this man that came in was forty years younger. It took him another moment to fully recognize that face from the old photo in the locket. He appeared just like that young, strong Marine captured in time. Well, except with a certain jaded expression that came from tragedy. “Is that you, Frank? What happened?”

He told him the truth, though in vague terms, about an experimental serum a friend wanted him to try. “I wasn’t going to, but I had a heart attack on Christmas Eve. Rogue was due to show up and I took it so she wouldn’t have to find me dead. By the way, heart attacks are hereditary. That’s how my father died.” He added as an afterthought, “I’d appreciate it if you kept the knowledge to yourself. Rogue knows, of course, but I don’t want anyone else to. I’m going underground for some time and it’s my thought that eventually people will think I’m dead. It’ll be safer for you and yours.” He neglected to mention that eventually he’d pick up his ‘job’ again.  
I need to regroup, see who emerges to take the place of the Red Branch and the Wreckers. See what happens to the Kingpin now that Mystique is gone. As tempting as it would be to press forward, he needed to know how Wilson Fisk would react. Would he tear through the town on a vengeance streak? Or would he, and Frank was inclined to think this, be more cold and calculating? Would he simply not care? OR, this was another theory Frank had to consider as well, was this Fisk’s plan all along—by playing everyone against each other—to rid himself of a potentially deadly threat to him and his empire?

“Did you know Eleanor is planning on following the family tradition of being a Marine, like you and your father? She’s already enlisted. The Marines deferred her departure to boot camp in light of the …of what happened. I gotta tell you, she puzzles me. I’d think she would have had enough of guns for a lifetime.” David greedily sipped at his ice water.

“Huh.” Frank might have to reassess his opinion of Eleanor. Maybe there was more of his temperament in her than he originally thought. “Do you want someone to try to talk her out of it?” He would volunteer for the task if David wanted him to.

David considered. “Kevin tried. He really tried. But she steadfastly refused to hear any of it. Once her mind is made up, she’s set on a course and she’ll do it no matter the cost to herself. She defends innocent people, people who are downtrodden. She always has. She raises hell and doesn’t tolerate bullies or people she considers immoral. And her sense of what is right and wrong is finely tuned. My daughter reminds me of you. Maybe it is for the best that she goes into the military so she can put that drive to use. It doesn’t mean that I have to be happy about it.”

So David saw it too, shouldn’t be surprised. “No. She’s going to walk a hard road. Be there for her.” That was the only advise that Frank could give. “What about Kevin? Will he finish his contract? Or will he try to get a medical discharge?” Frank asked, carefully.

“He’s going to stay and fulfill that contract, provided there is no lasting nerve damage to his arm or leg. He is thinking about re-upping, but I will admit that I hope he doesn’t. I’ll support him either way.” David stopped and added. “Trent always hated fighting, but he’s terrified of it now. Someone closed a drawer too abruptly while Trent was visiting me and he freaked out.”

The kid’s too young for PTSD, shouldn’t have it, but I would sure say that he does. “Make sure he sees a psychiatrist.”

David nodded. “I plan on it. The FBI is requiring me to take a paid sabbatical due to everything that’s been going on. I’m going back to college, take a few classes that I need and I’m going to become a social worker. I don’t want anything more to do with death or violence if I can help it. And anyway, my son needs me to take a less dangerous job. Plus, I don’t think I can work for the FBI anymore. I keep wanting to ram my fist in my supervisor’s face and that’s generally not looked upon with favor.”

“You seem to have a game plan figured out. I didn’t back then.” Frank said. Of course, he didn’t have people to keep him grounded. His parents were dead and so were Maria’s parents—not that they liked him, but they were old school Italian and that mean supporting one’s family back then.

“You helped me decide I wanted to be a social worker. You helped me by writing that note.” David replied. “Thank you. I also decided I’m going to change my name to Castiglione. I don’t want to be a Salvatore. It feels so disingenuous to me.”

That shocked Frank. “Are you sure that’s wise? What about your children?” 

“Do you know how many Castigliones there are in New York? Hundreds upon hundreds.” David informed his father. “Besides, anyone that can figure out that I’m related to you can do so no matter what my last name. As for my children, they’ll make the choice for themselves.” And, David thought, I want to be the real me, the man not raised by someone who made the wrong choice. Having lost two children, David held more sympathy for Carlos, but the proper response to that anguish would have been to adopt. Not stealing another grief stricken man’s child.

Frank got up and patted him on the shoulder that did not have a gun shot in it. Secretly, he was pleased about David taking up the family name. He worried about that, but knew David was right. “I think you’ll be ok. You’re tough. Men in our family tend to be.”

“See you around?” David asked and turned the TV off. He wanted to read the latest Stephen King book, now that he had plenty of time to do so.

“Not for a while. Three or four months at least. But call if something comes up.” Frank said and headed for the door. David knew what he meant by that.

“What happened to ….” David asked as Frank hesitated by the door knob.

Frank looked at him with serious eyes. “You don’t want to know, David. Better not to ask that.” Then he left, having other errands to run.

# # #  
Rogue indulged in a high calorie meal at Frank’s Diner, or that’s what she called it in her mind. Cheeseburger with all the fixings, greasy fries and a real thick chocolate milk shake. She justified her meal due to it almost being New Year’s Eve and that she had burned up a lot of calories lately. That and she wouldn’t get such sinful comfort food when she went to join up with Fury.

“You’re a week early.” Fury drawled and sat next to her. He hadn’t been following her, precisely, but received a tip that she was here.

“Well, Ah remembered this place had good American grub and Frank’s busy right now, so Ah took myself out to eat. Ah’m surprised to see you here, Mr. Fury.” Rogue chomped down on her cheeseburger. This burger is so fricking good, Rogue thought, then changed her priorities. What’s he doing? Following me? This doesn’t seem like a coincidence.

“I’m no mister. Just call me Nick. And don’t call me sir, either, I work for a living.” Nick grumbled at her, but in a good natured way. He wondered if Frank had taken the serum, was going to ask Rogue, but knew she wouldn’t tell him, since she tended to keep her lips shut. That was a quality he wanted in a soldier, especially with the high possibility of having to kill while doing covert operations. “Have you given it some thought?”

Rogue finished demolishing her burger before responding. She munched on a perfectly done French fry. “Yes, Ah’m gonna take you up on your offer, but just to let you know, Ah ain’t going to be ready until next week. Ah still have a few things to wrap up.”

“How do you envision life will be under my command?” Nick asked.

She did not care for that particular phrasing, but that was probably due to her general wariness. “Well, Ah assume you’ll be lettin’ me parachute outta a plane on a bike, holdin’ twin 1911’s and smokin’ a cigar to go shoot up the bad guys.”

He laughed and ordered a coffee, black. 

“But really,” she said in all seriousness, “Ah imagine it’ll be by turns boring, scary, lonely. It’ll be nights out in the field, bleeding and not knowin’ if you’re gonna make it until the morning. It’ll be scrounging for food and livin’ by your wits—and thankfully, Ah have a lot of wits.” She drank her milkshake. Ah’m gonna miss shakes.

“That’s about the truth of it, Rogue.” Nick said, sipping his coffee. 

“Frank made sure Ah knew it’d be a hard life, if Ah chose it. “Rogue sighed, and wished for more milkshake to magically appear in her empty glass. That would be the hardest of all, living away from him, not being able to tease him or ask for his advice. “Ah’ll miss the friends Ah’ve made here. But Ah know Ah don’t have to be a soldier forever.”

“You won’t.” Nick promised her. “And I guarantee you will have weekends off, unless you’re on a mission. It won’t be bad.”

“That helps, knowin’ Ah’ll have time to do other things and live life.” Rogue wanted to get back to the safe house. She had a book on her to do list and desired to finish it before she went off to Super Boot Camp.

“I know this isn’t exactly Christmas, but here’s a gift, Rogue.” He dug around in his pocket and came up with a flesh colored ring, which he then plunked by Rogue. He rose from the booth, he sensed Rogue’s pensiveness and need to not be bothered—and didn’t blame her. People needed their space. She smiled and broke that solemn expression, however briefly, with her natural beauty. In that instant, Nick had an inkling of why Frank was protective of her. Rogue was undeniably lovely, a red rose amongst weeds. “Tell Frank I’d like him to come along next week.”

She picked it up and slid it on. “Ah certainly will, Nick. Thank you very much.”

“And give the Marine hell for me.” Nick told her, as he paused at the door before heading out into the snow.

“That won’t be a problem for me at all. In fact, it’ll be my pleasure.” She grinned as she laid down two twenty dollar bills and told the waitress to have a great day. The waitress thanked her for her generosity and split the tip with the cook.

Nick laughed again, and disappeared like the CIA spook that he was into the freezing night air.

# # #  
Rogue came home wet and cold to the bone. Some careless taxi had sprayed her with a puddle of dirty slush, soaking her coat and splashing her in the face. She spit out a tiny piece of gravel and let forth a few choice words. Then as she made her way home, the temperature dropped dramatically. Rogue was not a happy camper and wished she was in a hot shower. 

She shivered as she stepped into the living area, her lips a slight blue Rogue was numb, couldn’t think or speak, and stumbled around until she rested on the wall.

Frank, sitting in his chair and loading magazines, immediately noticed that. He’d taken a shower earlier and was clad only in pants. He put down what he was doing and began to heat water for her tea. “Take off your clothes and get in the bath. Stay in there at least fifteen minutes. Come out in something warm and take the couch. We’ll talk when you’re out.” Frank said, in his usual sudden manner. She looked drenched and almost frozen to death. Why didn’t she call? I would have picked her up. 

Rogue was more than happy to do so. When she came back out, tea was waiting for her and he plied blankets on her. 

“Why did you come home looking like an ice statue?” Frank demanded, caught in the middle between exasperation and anger. “Why didn’t you call? Maybe take a taxi?”

“Ah didn’t call because you needed to be alone, and Ah’m hesitant to use a taxi because, well, Ah’m cautious. Even that one time, Ah had him drop me off a few blocks from here.” She added. “It’s nice to know you care.”

He shot her an expression of vexation, but no biting words came out. He watched as she sipped the tea and let herself relax in a sea of warmth. “I appreciate the consideration, but don’t go out walking in this weather. New York can be treacherous this time of year.”

“Ah would have been fine if it weren’t for a stupid taxi spraying me with gravel and tons of slush.” Rogue grumbled, grateful for the blankets and wiggled her toes to notice if she could feel them. She did. “Ah’m not happy about that. The slush completely soaked my coat and Ah didn’t know the temp would go down so quickly. Ah shoulda hailed a cab and caught a ride. Ah apologize.”

“Just think next time, Rogue.” Frank replied.

Rogue decided it was time for a change in conversation. “Ah went to the diner because Ah had an overwhelming desire to blow my diet and ran into Nick Fury. He asked about my intentions and Ah told him Ah would join. He gave me the ring as an early present.” She showed him.

“Maybe you should have waited until the last moment to accept.” Frank said but it was her life and she wasn’t an idiot. Mostly. 

“Ah know what Ah want to do with my life. Why pussyfoot around and waste time?” Rogue asked with the air of a philosopher, her white lock curved against her cheek. “Ah wish Ah knew if the ring worked. It should, Ah don’t think Nick would deceive me on something so easily found out…but Ah’m havin’ a hard time findin’ a volunteer.”

“Touch me. If it doesn’t work, I’ll go punch Nick out myself.” He offered a hand to her and she extended a gentle fingertip. It touched his warm skin and nothing happened.

The invited physical contact suddenly made her aware of just how lonely she had been for so long. This was more than a simple gesture, it was communication, it was trust, it was connecting with another living being. Her fingers, gentle and like a winsome breeze, travelled up his arm. “Is it ok?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Her touch made his heart speed up. He was not used to such treatment. Even when he engaged in the physical act of sex, it was generally rough and tumble, with no emotions attached. This was different because it meant something to Rogue. She treated this like it was the most precious gift, and it was to her. It affected him to watch her be so moved. She’ll be the death of me and I’ll welcome it.

She traced a finger along his jawline, shadowed by unshaven facial growth. She cupped his face gently and smiled at him, his eyes inscrutable. The air grew heavy between them and the next thing Rogue knew, she straddled his lap supported with his hands firmly on her hips.

Rogue’s hands went down his chest, and she held one over his heart. She felt it beat faster and asked if she could kiss him. His arms crushed her against him and her lips met his. She broke the kiss off when she needed to come up for oxygen. Tears ran down her cheeks as she looked at Frank.

“How do you feel?” He questioned, one hand left her hip to curve around her face. He wondered if they were moving too fast, too soon. I’ll put a temporary stop to it if I feel it might not be in our best interest to proceed.   
Truthfully, he felt as if he might want to wait. As for Rogue, he did not want to feel as if he were taking advantage of her. 

“Ah’m happy, this feels right and good and natural. Ah can TOUCH someone without killing them. Do you know how good that is for me? Ah can be normal; Ah can have a real life.” Rogue grinned and kissed him again.

He sobered, the solid feel of Rogue against him was more than welcome but not what they needed right now. He searched for a word to describe what she must be going through. Overwhelmed. She had been deprived of real human contact for so long, that it was new to her. He would not take her to bed just because she could touch again. Rogue deserved more than just being a one-night stand, she was worth some sort of commitment, even if it would never be marriage. “Do you trust me?”

“Ah do.” Rogue told him.

“Then I think we should wait for a while before going forward. I know this is what you want in the heat of the moment, but I need to make sure that I’m not taking advantage of you.” He captured her face and saw that she understood. 

She thought about the family he buried today and experienced her own shame. Today would not be an appropriate time and he was right to put the shenanigans on hold. “That’s a good idea, Frank. Ain’t gonna hurt to wait, for either of us.” After a friendly pat on his shoulder, she managed to sit back down on the couch to finish her drink, while he reflected.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heavily implied sex.

Wilson hung up the phone. He had received the news on Mystique, or rather, her disappearance. He knew what that meant. Someone had got her and he knew who that someone had to be. The rational part of him expected this. She was ever headstrong and careless, and showed no fear. It was partially what attracted her to him, this impulsivity. 

But he now needed to make a call, one that he didn’t much care to do. He needed to call the Hand and let them know. He had, in fact, promised Raven he would in the event of her death. The Hand, he grimaced, would resurrect her—probably working on it now—but it would come at a high price. With great precision and care, he pecked out each number and held the phone to his ear.

An elderly, but strong, voice answered. The accent was thick but understandable. “Mr. Fisk. We are aware of the fact that she has passed on and we’re working on bringing her back.”  
Fisk had an idea brewing in the back of his mind. It was bold and may not be possible but if it were…he would have no need for many of the soldiers in his crime syndicate. He sensed a mass ‘layoff’ in the future. Wilson liked to clean house every once in a while, get the rats out and generally put the fear of Kingpin in the men that remained. “If you can regenerate Raven from just a few blood cells, why not try for more? If money is required, I will be more than happy to supply it. Maybe keep one for your own organization.”

There was a stunned silence on the other end. “I will bring this up to my superior, Mr. Fisk. I ask your pardon that I do not have an answer available as this request isn’t normally possible. May I call you back when I do have one for you?”

“Yes, you may. I appreciate your candor and politeness.” He stated. They exchanged formal pleasantries, then ended the call. “I’m tired of these vigilantes doing as they please. I will bring order to the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, if I have to kill everyone in it to do so. It’s time to end the chaos that they bring.”

# # #

SIX DAYS LATER

“Why?” Frank repeated. He had brought up this conversation, since it had been interrupted the last time. He wanted this finished before she went off to join Nick Fury in his endless war. “Why do you love me?” Frank knew that he did not deserve love. He was a man who did bad things for the right reasons, but he remained an unrepentant killer. Always would be, and no amount of love would change his nature. And she told him she loved him, a gift that was like a gold ring just held out of grasp. He could not understand why a woman would love him. 

“You have a moral code. You’re brutal, yes, but you have a soft spot for those who deserve it. You’re loyal. You listen to what Ah say even if you disagree.” She stopped, blushed at the thought of her next words, then went on. “Last week, you could’ve had your way with me and Ah’d have been willing. But you cared enough to stop and take your time. You didn’t want to hurt me or even risk doing something Ah could regret.”

Frank leaned over Rogue and told her, “I will get you killed.”

“Everyone fucking dies, Frank. It’s just a question whether or not a bullet gets ya or you die an excruciating death from cancer. It’s inevitable.” Rogue flatly said. “Stop protesting as if you’re trying to protect me. Ah think you’re trying to protect yourself. Ah think you need to take a minute and ask yourself why are you scared to love me?”

“That’s an easy answer: Because the few people I manage to care about always end up in the morgue.”

“Please let’s stop with the tragic hero trope. Hero loves a woman, woman dies a horrible death by the hands of his enemies, hero is left forever alone. Blah, blah boring.” Rogue went on. “Ah am not a trope. Ah am a survivor and Ah most certainly ain’t a damsel and if Ah were in distress, Ah know how to handle a gun. Failing that, a Ka-Bar. Now, Ah ain’t promising nothing will ever happen to me. Ah can’t promise that. Ah just don’t want to be shoved aside.”

Frank sat down on the couch, his weight pressed down on the sparse cushions. “You know how I feel, Rogue. I won’t shove you aside. But you sure about this? I’m not a man of half-measures. I want both sides of you: the person who has compassion for the deserving and the killer that you are.” He stood back up and paced the room, like a caged tiger. “Hell, I’m not sure I can survive losing another lover. How strong do you think I am, Lori?” He pictured Rogue, cold and lifeless and bloodied, an image that caused him pain more than he wanted to admit. To not have her wit and warmth in the world would turn his what was left of his heart completely black.

“Ah just know that Ah love you and will for the rest of my life. Ah don’t do half-measures either.” Rogue said, coming to position herself in front of him. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Let’s have some happiness for however long we can.” Her blue eyes searched up into his. “Ah ain’t asking for eternity, just asking for right now.”

I shouldn’t do this. I should turn around and head out to kill some assholes. But, the soul beseeching expression in her eyes pulled him to her. “OK. For as long as this lasts.” He kissed her then. She tasted of moonbeams and her skin felt like rose petals, delicate and soft under his war roughened hands.

Rogue managed to catch her breath sometime after they were done, his hand on her waist and her leg thrown over his, both of them tangled in his sheets. She smiled as he kissed her forehead. “That was incredible.” She snuggled deeper into his chest, relishing the comfort and safety she derived from his presence. Rogue toyed with his chest hair, silky under her fingers. Impishly, Rogue let her hands venture farther down.

Frank was relieved that he didn’t hurt her; he had forgotten the robust physical enthusiasm of being a twenty-five-year old man. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” However, he could not shake the notion that Rogue was just another rug to be pulled out from under him. Lori will be the last one. Ever. He ran his hands over her curves as she laughed. It didn’t take much encouragement for him to want her again. He thought that he didn’t want her to leave the next day, but recognized her mind was made up on the matter. If he asked, though, she’d stay with him. He knew she would, but he didn’t. She had bad guys to kill and so did he.

“Ah need to use the bathroom, then we’ll get down to the finer points of infiltration. You’ll have to educate me, of course, as you have more knowledge than Ah do in that arena. Maybe even give me a demonstration of your technique.” She let him get a good look at her undressed form, with her nearly perfect alabaster skin and well-toned muscles. That skin would be perfect except for the scars on her back, a permanent gift from Mystique.

Later on, after much discussion—among other things—they fell asleep. Rogue slipped into repose first, he watched as a rare glint of winter moonlight, that dared to enter their room by way of a window, blessed her face. Frank felt extremely protective of her and would stuff a bomb down the throat of anyone who harmed a hair on her head. He whispered three words against her cheek, then he permitted himself to rest. 

“Frank,” she muttered the next morning, “you’re a bed hog.” She struggled out of the covers to haul herself into the shower. She kept it short as she thought he’d want one too, which he did. She didn’t bother to put anything on, but he shoved himself into a pair of boxer briefs.

“It’s been many years since I’ve shared a bed. I guess I’m not used to it.” He said, ruefully. He decided to fix up some eggs and toast while she showered. I’m not much of a cook, but it’s simple enough to scramble some eggs. He thought of Rogue and how much she would be missed. He nearly turned the eggs to rubber before coming to his senses. I was distracted, that’s not good. I need to re-focus. 

Freshly washed, she came out with a grin and a towel wrapped around her. After a moment’s hesitation, she chose to eat rather than shimmy into her clothes. “Thanks.” She kissed him and blushed. She loved his smell, reminiscent of gunpowder, coffee and his own personal scent.

He appreciated the gesture, but he steeled himself when she departed for military life. He hoped she’d be fine and that the knowledge he imparted to Rogue would save her skin. Frank thought she’d excel in the field. Rogue, scrappy and resourceful, would find a way to survive but he knew from experience it took only a second for the world to change against a soldier.

Frank glanced at the clock. Five hours left before he had to take her to the diner. So he gave her advice. “Don’t forget to keep grounded. Don’t get distracted.” He snapped back into drill sergeant mode, voice firm but not overly strict. “Do what you have to when it comes to survival. That means fighting dirty. Ball kicking, eye gouging…the works. Dig in and don’t let go. Grind them into the dirt.” He gave her a plate then made one for himself.

“Also, keep my helmet on and stay downwind when Ah’m sniping. And always pay attention to where Ah’m going. Little details add up, and when something doesn’t feel right, there’s a reason for that.” Rogue grinned up at him and took a big bite.

“And here I thought you didn’t listen to me.” 

“Ah always listen.” She gave him an expression of innocence mixed with mischievousness. 

Frank had a question on the back burner of his mind. It had been percolating for some time, and the opportunity never popped up to inquire about it. If I don’t ask her now, might never get around to it. “Rogue, what happens to the person you touch when they recover? Are they changed? Do they get a portion of your psyche?”

“Ah don’t know. Good question. You and David are the only ones Ah’ve touched that are alive and kicking.” Rogue seemed concerned, but she gave his question serious consideration. “No. Ah don’t believe Ah leave a part of myself behind. You’d know it by now.” 

# # #

Eleanor was at the library, doing some research. Trent was with Kevin and their father, thank goodness. She loved being with everyone but she needed to do this and didn’t want to answer any awkward questions. Grandfather’s first name: Francis. And judging from her father’s new name of Castiglione, she reckoned that was their real last name. 

She typed in the words “Francis Castiglione family tragedy in 1973.” She had done some math. Her father had said he lost his mother and sister when he was about five. There were about sixty results that popped up, so she started at the top. She read the website, about the name change to Frank Castle, and about how all four of them were gunned down. She winced in sympathy. “This can’t be Dad’s family. They all died, except for the man who became the Punisher.” She heard of the Punisher, of course, she just hadn’t cared to learn much about him. Eleanor continued to stare at the one picture the website had of the family, she knew the face of the little boy, had seen pictures of that boy at Grandpa Carlos’s house. She took a deep breath and girded herself to view the autopsy photos of the Castle family. The boy on the small metal table seemed similar enough, death had a way of removing individuality from faces, but with one difference. The boy being autopsied had a small mole on his temple, and that was most certainly not the same kid in the Castle family pictures. She noted they were the official police photos. Some yahoo in the police force released them. It seems wrong that they’re out in the ether now.

She quickly x’d out of those photos and went back to the main page of the website. She clicked on the forums and skimmed over hypothesizes regarding the Punisher’s psychology. People either loved him or thought he was Satan himself. A user going by the handle, Daredevil75, quoted a writer: There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.”—Laurell Hamilton. She felt as if she agreed with that sentiment. 

She read about someone who testified—Eleanor kept in mind this WAS the internet and who knew if this particular poster was telling the truth—that the Punisher saved her from the sex trade and he killed those who murdered her baby. She went on to write that he was her savior, that he saved the people who did not seem to matter much, that the superheroes overlooked because they refused to see beyond their pretty lie. The story rang of a painful certainty. One post had a picture of the Punisher in action. She immediately spotted the possible family resemblance between David, Kevin and him.

She cleared her internet history, then closed Microsoft Edge. Her fist clenched when she remembered the gunmen, and Erik, boldly strutting into the apartment. And the chaos after. I relate to the Punisher. He’s right. Some people deserve to be put down because they don’t know any better, whether it be due to bad parenting or genetics, they take their aggression out on others because they can. Her hour of internet used up, Eleanor packed her phone and the notes she jotted down in her purse.

Dad’s got some explaining to do.

Eleanor walked with purpose into her father’s room. “Kevin, take Trent for some fresh air. I need to have a chat with Pops. Don’t argue, I’ll tell you later if Dad will let me.” Kevin opened his mouth, she gave him a glare, then he shut it. Kevin learned a long time ago to pick his battles with his little sister.

“How about something other than water to drink? Chocolate milk?” Kevin asked as he got up from the chair and Trent cheered.

Eleanor waited until they left. “Francis Castiglione is your father, huh? Better known as Frank Castle?”

“You’re too damned smart for your own good, Eleanor.” David said.

“No, I just figured out you wanted someone to know and that’s why you dropped so many hints. You wanted one of us to know about our grandfather, but couldn’t outright tell us. I happened to be the one to put all those tidbits together. Am I wrong?” Eleanor asked.

David smiled at his daughter. “You aren’t. But don’t go around telling anyone. I’ll let Kevin know sometime, then Trent when he’s older.”

“Can I meet him?” Eleanor asked. “I’d like to.”

“That’s a complicated request. I’m not saying no, but he might. He’s what you might call reclusive.” And then there’s the whole regained youth situation, that’ll require some explanation. I’m not sure if he wants to deal with that. He is curious about Eleanor, more than he shows, and it might be good for her to meet him.

Eleanor had to inquire, “What happened after Central Park? How did you end up with Carlos Salvatore? The article I read on …this person… said he was a devoted husband and father who took his responsibilities seriously. I couldn’t imagine him just giving you up.”

“I’m going to please ask you to not think ill of Grandpa Carlos.” David refused to continue until she gave her promise. “It turned out the little boy killed was the real son of Carlos, and Carlos let the police believe that it was me. Then, going through channels best not mentioned, he illegally adopted me.”

Eleanor’s face darkened, as conflicting thoughts entered her head. “That’s very unethical of him. And he was a cop? He’s supposed to uphold the law, not break it.” Those were the kindest words she could manage to utter, though she did think Grandpa Carlos was an ass for doing what he did to Castle.

“Well, he saved my life. Who knows what would’ve happened if I had been returned to you know who. He was also deep in grief and that can make you act out in ways you wouldn’t normally behave. Believe me, Elle, I know. So please try to remember him as the kind grandfather who loved you very much.” David told her and took her hand. 

“I’ll try but I’m still pissed about it.” Eleanor grumbled about it, but kissed her father’s forehead.

That day, David was officially released from the hospital. His adopted father’s place, with his belongings already packed up and put in storage for David to go through at a later date, was readied for David and Trent’s arrival.   
Eleanor and Kevin were going down to Georgia to wrap up life down at the Lovell house. They had no choice but to put the house for a short sale, which the bank agreed to, considering the circumstances. They then would drive back up to NYC with Trent, Emma and Cameron’s possessions, or rather, the personal stuff they couldn’t part with.

# # #

President Steve Rogers examined the spread of resumes on his desk for the position of the FBI director. He hoped to get a good man in before his next inauguration on the twentieth. Angelo Martin was one of them. Nick, who inhabited the chair nearest Steve, shook his head. 

“Not him, Mr. President. Angelo Martin is corrupt as fuck. Hell, most of those men on your desk I wouldn’t trust to wash my tidy whities.” Nick chomped on his cigar, ignoring the blatant nonsmoking rule of the Oval Office. “If you want to root out the corruption in the FBI, you’re going to have to find a man that doesn’t want to be the Director.”

“I suppose you have a few suggestions?” Steve asked.

Nick did have a few good men in mind, but one in particular. This man gave Nick a good vibe and he didn’t normally get those from people. “David Salvatore is a good man. Intelligent, kind, smart. And hates crime and corruption. I don’t place much faith in the incorruptibility of man, but he’s as virtuous as they come.” He checked out the FBI on a regular basis, of course, so he knew who to watch out for.

“Wasn’t he involved in a shooting of some sort?” Steve asked.

“Yes, hitmen entered the family apartment, killed his ex-wife and two of their children. Horrible incident. He managed to save himself and their other three kids.” Nick replied, nonchalantly. “He’s the kind of guy you want fighting crime. He’s been there, been through hell. He’ll make sure cases get handled properly.”

“Ok, arrange a meeting and I’ll ask him if he wants the job. I’d like to meet him. At any rate, sounds like he could use a friendly word or two. In the meantime, give me his dossier.” Steve ordered.


	18. Chapter 18

Author’s note: I’d like to thank each and every one of you who has stuck it through what is basically a novel. I certainly appreciate the time investment on your behalf to read what I wrote. I hope you enjoyed it.

“Before we go, I have something to give you. Just a little thing to remind you of me while you’re soldiering.” Frank told her. “Close your eyes.” He held it in his hand, hidden from Rogue. He didn’t have much to offer her as a present, but thought she might appreciate the gesture.

“Really?” Rogue let her rucksack drop to the floor as she covered her eyes. He opened his hand and looked at his dog tags. Francis Castiglione, they said, along with his blood type, social security number and religious preference. He placed the chain over her head and the tags rested lightly on her chest. “Can Ah open my eyes?” She asked, and looked forward to seeing what he gave her.

“Yes.” He said, amused at the anticipatory tone of her voice.

She opened her eyes and touched the metal tags resting on her. It sunk in on what he just presented to her. “Your dog tags. Ah’m surprised you had them. “Her finger ran over the battered surface, touching his name, then she tucked them underneath her shirt.

“I am too.” He replied to her. For a moment, he felt discomforted, knowing he was sending her off to boot camp then fighting. He considered Maria must have experienced the same emotion. She had been eight months pregnant when he went to the Marine Boot Camp at Parris Island. That scared expression in her eyes when he visited her and informed her that he was being deployed to Vietnam, and how she held baby Lisa in her arms.

Rogue hugged him then. “Ah a little nervous, Frank. What if Ah don’t do well enough for Nick? What if Ah blow my chance on doing something stupid?” 

“You’ll do fine. Just continue to sass Nick Fury. I know, it’s counter intuitive because he’s military. Most military leaders aren’t similar to him. He likes people who aren’t afraid of him. Remember to focus. When you’re in the field, don’t let people flank you.” Frank said and ruffled her satiny, curly hair. He realized this echoed the present he gave to his son, the silver locket, and it made him uncomfortable. “I taught you, remember that too. I wouldn’t send you out if I thought you were unready.” He noted her fears seemed to revolve around letting people down rather than dying.

Lori nodded and her spirits picked up. “You’re right.” She spied her phone on the counter, unlocked it and snapped a picture of her kissing his cheek. She sent it to him with a quick couple of swipes on her screen, then she turned off the phone. She put it away in a drawer. “Ah can’t take this where Ah’m going.”

“We better leave before traffic gets worse.” He waited for her at the door, let her and her rucksack through, then they left to wrestle with the heavy New York traffic, where drivers engaged in gladly insulting each other with colorful epithets and hand gestures. 

Nick awaited their arrival at the diner. Since the first meeting with Rogue and Frank he had developed a fondness for the coffee served here. Strong, black and Nick swore would help keep a dead man on his feet. The burgers weren’t bad either, he decided. He remembered that Frank loved his coffee almost bitterly robust. 

The battered black van made a halt near his vehicle. He noticed, with some interest, the young woman sweetly touch her lips to those of a younger looking Frank Castle. They had a brief exchange of words, then they opened the doors and climbed out. She hoisted her rucksack and slung it over her shoulder, soon followed by Frank Castle. So he did take it. I wasn’t positive if he would or not; he’s predictably unpredictable. I hope the formula works for him in the long run. He also noted that Rogue seemed soft on him and the way her eyes smiled at him. Although Frank did not appear to object to her kiss, it was hard to tell if he returned her obvious affection. Only because of the previous meeting did Nick know that Frank did care about the woman. He’s hiding what he feels. She must have crawled under his skin. 

“Hello, Nick. Showing up for duty.” She sounded cheerier than she inwardly felt. Her nerves were doing a dance on a high wire, strung tight over a crevasse as deep as the Grand Canyon. “Ready to kick ass and take names.”

“The kicking of aforementioned ass will not happen anytime soon. Other than the administering of my boot to your backside if you don’t perform well.” He drawled. “And you’re looking well, soldier. You are free to enlist if you want. We could always use another man or even an instructor.” No chance Frank’d take him up on it, but it never hurt to ask, especially since of his connection with the lovely Rogue.

“I’ll keep your offer in mind.” Frank told him, absently. It was a good proposal, but Frank had a few other issues on his plate. He’d consider it. I’d still be fighting evil men, just on a larger scale. Worth bearing in mind.   
Teaching has its own appeal too. I could be saving some lives. I enjoyed teaching in the Corps. I also enjoyed teaching Rogue. But he needed to keep an eye on Fisk for the time being; he didn’t trust the Kingpin about as much as he could throw him, to use the old adage. His instinct told him that Wilson Fisk would patiently wait for a spell. Wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. Red would probably need his help. Matt wouldn’t WANT it, but that was beside the point. They could throw punches at each other later, if it would make Daredevil feel better.

Nick’s eyebrow raised. That wasn’t a no. Instead of pressing Frank, he turned his attention to Rogue, who seemed to be a little nervous. He didn’t blame her. Everyone was nervous going to boot camp. Hell, he thought, I’d run her through a psych eval if she wasn’t a tad anxious. “It’ll be ok, kid. Camp’s tough but if you can keep up with Jarhead here, you’re tougher.” And that was about all the reassurance that Nick was capable of.

It was all that Rogue required. “Then Ah’m good to go when you are, Nick.” She smiled at Frank. She knew he wasn’t one for public displays of affection. Neither was she, but she tried to decide whether or not to embrace him.

Frank took the decision from her. He whispered a few words, “Remember, be careful. Trust no one.” He made it appear as if he kissed her cheek. Then he clasped her shoulder in encouragement.

“I’m a busy man and we have a flight to catch. We’re going down to Parris Island for training. Most of the other recruits are Marines and the decision was made to have it there.” Not Nick’s personal choice, but it was serviceable. 

Frank ordered his own cup of coffee from the friendly but overworked waitress. Maybe get a pastrami sandwich. He didn’t want to go straight back to his lair. The day was too young. “Take care.”

She stood up straight. “Ah will and you too, Frank. That’s an order. Ah’ll see ya in a couple of months. Let’s go, Fury.” Rogue gave him one last wink before she was whisked away in the expensive SUV Nick always favored. Frank thought it probably was heavily armored and stuffed full of the latest tech. It drove off and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Frank did request a hot pastrami sandwich while he sat and processed the fact she was away. She’ll do fine. More than fine. 

A sudden flash of movement caught his eye through the window of the diner. Two men, both street raised, were pushing around a woman who clutched her purse. He wasn’t exactly a lip reader, but he could tell that they wanted what she had. He shoved the last bite into his mouth, dropped enough money to pay for the bill then some, and pushed himself off the stool. Time to get to work, he said to himself.


End file.
